Careful What You Wish For: Embracing Destiny
by ladyofdarkstar
Summary: Part Two to Careful What You Wish For: Semi-serious crack-fic and twist on the "butterfly effect." We've all had our moments where we wish we could leap into our favorite book/movie/TV show and either save the hero or trash the bad guy. But what else would change if we had our "moment?" Set during events of ESB and goes heavily AU. Filled with dark sarcasm. Reviews are love!
1. What the Hoth?

A/N: A new story, a fresh page, and plenty of word vomit across it to muck-up a perfectly good sheet of paper. Or in this case, a perfectly good bit of computer space (depending upon how you like to read your fanfic). :D Welcome back to Mary's world. I hope you enjoy this ride as much as you did the last one.

You don't have to have read _Careful What You Wish For_ to understand this story. It would help, but it's not necessary. I have included a summary in this first chapter to keep things on track.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

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The unmistakable horror began when I realized we were out of coffee. Not when I realized today was the day that the events in ESB were going to start rolling and soon the Imperial Army would Icecapades its way across our base. Not when I realized that that meant Vader would show up like that douche boss from The Office and demand to know what happened to all those reports I was supposed to be sending him. No. None of that. There were other concerns that needed to be handled first. _Major_ concerns.

Like a lack of caffeine in my system.

I stared down at the empty container, fighting the urge to stick my finger in it to see if any particles were left, and then rub that finger on my gums like any good meth-head. The urge won, and still no dice. Not a bean, not a coffee ground, not a whiff of lingering aroma left on all of Hoth. It wasn't like I could run down to the local bodega and pick up some pre-ground. Because we were on HOTH. The most forsaken, abandoned, jilted, disowned, deserted, desolate, uninhabited, cast off, derelict, uninhabited, empty, uninh… wait, I'd said that one already… shithole of a planet in all the galaxy.

And because of that I was going to have to face Vader uncaffeinated. Life was _so_ unfair!

"Bet General Veers is sipping coffee right now, the bastard," I muttered, slogging my way through the Ice Palace that served as our base.

Rebel officers and normal folks that just happened to hate the Empire jumped the Hoth out of my way as I stormed the halls. Normally I would have said Hell out of my way. But Hoth was so cold it became its own curse word. I think that's how the place got its name, honestly. The first person to set foot on this glacier pretending to be a planet tried to scream "HELL OH THE HELL IT'S COLD!" But all that came out was "HOTHIC!" after his tongue, in fit of self-preservation, tried to climb back down his throat for warmth.

They shorted it to simply "Hoth" when they realized the acronym had stuck. Probably because it was easier to say when you have a temporary lisp due to your tongue being frozen.

"What's that about Veers?" Leia asked sharply as I threw myself groggily into an empty chair in the command station.

She was wearing red again instead of the white she should have been wearing. The same red outfit she'd worn on Teardrop. Everything tight and low cut enough to make people stare, only this time she had on some copper-colored jewelry to add a bit of contrast. She had a circlet of copper on her forehead, copper hoops in her ears, and a long copper chain that bore a large, gorgeous medallion on it. And yes, said medallion sported a ruby that could have funded this base for twelve years.

I tried very hard to not remember the last time I saw that thing. Grand Admiral Thrawn had worn it in a vision I'd had on Dagobah, and in that vision he had succeeded in conquering the known galaxy. He'd united the Chiss Ascendancy (for those not in the know, that's the blue-skinned, glowing red eyed, rather amazing race that he hails from) and the Galactic Empire into one smashball of cultures all aimed at stopping the Yuuzahn Vong from trashing the place like rockstars after a concert.

He'd also worn one other piece of jewelry in that vision. A copper ring. On his left ring finger.

To match the one on mine.

Even now, a month after leaving Dagobah, the fingers of my left hand unconsciously curled up into my palm, searching for that wedding band. And every time I let out a silent sigh of relief that said band wasn't there. I wasn't quite ready to be Miss Grand Admiral yet. Hell, I wasn't even sure that I wanted to be Miss Anyone's Wife at this point. I'd just gotten my mind back together after Lord Hater had rearranged my memories and I really wanted to spend more time being comfortable in my own skin again.

"Nothing," I yawned, waving away her comment. "Just commenting on the fact that he's nice and toasty warm in his Star Destroyer right now, probably sipping my coffee just to piss me off."

"It's a possibility," Leia shrugged, looking back at whatever scrolled across the screen near her. "Our last supply line was raided a week ago by the Imperials."

"HAH! I knew it. The bastard _IS_ drinking my coffee right now. Probably leaning back in his office saying to himself 'yummm rebel scum coffee.' Remind me to punch… uhh… yell at him severely the next time I see him."

Leia shot me a look, and so did half the people on duty. The half that knew me probably thought I had lost my mind for real this time. It was my normal modus operandi to (threaten to) punch anything that marginally annoyed me. Kinda like Alice in those Dilbert comics. That had changed after spending a month on Dagobah before arriving in the Big Deep Freeze. I was really trying hard to follow the path that Master Yoda had outlined for me. And that included not giving into my anger all the time.

Which meant, in turn, that I had to stop threatening to punch people who annoyed me. Again, life was so unfair.

For those that have joined in my little slice of Hoth for the first time, allow me to recap the events of ANH. And no, it doesn't stand for "A New Hope" for me. It means Another Neurotic Hell, or Another Nightmare Happening, or Another Nerosis at Hand, or the ever popular You Aren't Going to Believe This Shit. Okay, that last one was a YAGBTS. But if the shoe fits, as the saying goes.

Anywho, here's what's been happening:

A long, long time ago (about five months), in a galaxy, far, far away (Earth), I had a normal life. I fell in love with Star Wars, I graduated college, and I became a bar tender when I realized I didn't want to work in my chosen field of Cultural Anthropology. Yet my failure of a life wasn't good enough for Lady Fate. For whatever reason, she and the rest of the bitches that made up the Celestial Destiny Committee decided I needed to end up flat on my back on the deck of the _Tantive IV_ with a stormtrooper holding a blaster above my face. All I remembered was shoving Leia out of the way of something and then pain in the form of a bad blue acid trip.

That wasn't enough of an explanation for Commander Jizzbag Dilhole Buttmunch of the Year, or as everyone else knows him, Commander Nahdonnis Praji (you know, the guy in ANH who only has the one speech about how "the battle Stations plans are not onboard this ship"). He thought I was lying when I said I had no idea what was going on. He was partially right. I really did know what was going on. Any Star Wars fan worth their geekness knew what was going on in that moment.

What I didn't know was how the Hoth I ended up on the _Tantive IV_.

So it was off to meet the Wizard, or in this case the Dark Lord of the Sith. That went about as well as could be expected given that a) he was righteously pissed, and b) I was righteously scared. He decided it was a great idea to brain rape me right then and there, and I decided that it wasn't, so I thought of nothing but the worst American TV the planet Earth had to offer. Like American Idol and the Jersey Shore. You know, trading pain for pain? Frankly, I was a little surprised he didn't crush my face like a beer can and throw me away.

Instead, he decided I needed to join his fanclub, and the benefits package for that job included one free torture session on the Death Star. Somewhere along the way, I managed to sleep with Nahdonnis Praji (don't ask), piss off Grand Admiral Thrawn (again, don't ask), and alter the flow of the Lucas-verse with my presence so that Thrawn's brother, Thrass, was alive and well and serving the Empire. Oh, and Thrass was married to former Jedi Lorana Jinzler who now called herself Dark Lady Threnody, who also should have been dead (seriously, stop asking!).

Vader explained to me how the dead were shuffling about without crying out the word "_BRAINS!_" in his usual diplomatic fashion—by brain raping me again, while simultaneously Force-choking me. Talk about a lack of people skills! Someone needs to call the Imperial HR department and let them know that a few of their employees were in need of serious sensitivity training. Yeah, yeah, I know. Me calling Vader to the carpet on his unresolved anger issues was like calling the kettle black. But at least I never killed anyone when I had a temper tantrum.

Vader also let it slip that I was a Vergence in the Force, but he didn't know how, as I had about as much Force potential as deck plating. Probably less, as the materials that made up said deck plating were native to this universe—I wasn't. Still, he found a use for me, especially when I sorta kinda lost my temper during a Hentai brain-rapey session (he's really fond of those) and let out the little tidbit that Leia was his daughter.

That's when he decided one Princess in this universe wasn't enough. So he altered a lot of documents courtesy of his friends in Imperial Intelligence to make it seem like I was the second adopted daughter of Breha and Bail Organa. With Alderaan reduced to pebbles, and the fact that he also brain wonkied Leia into believing that particular line of rubbish, no one was around to challenge those facts. The goal was to shove Leia and I back into the Rebellion and have us deliver Luke to him, and the move on to take the Rebellion down from the inside out. Then he added a little insurance to that plan by implanting another personality into both Leia and myself. One that reported to him in secret when we were sleeping.

True "sleeper personalities" if you get the joke. And just to torque me off, he named mine "Aurora" for the "Sleeping Beauty" aspects. I blame Disney for that one.

Well, one thing led to another and we all (Han, Luke, Chewie, Leia and I) made it off the Death Star and Luke blew it up. But that was after Thrawn admitted to taking an order from Vader, himself, to make certain the Death Star went the way of the dinosaurs. Only, he was to make it look like the rebels did it if the rebels failed. Yeah, that one startled the crap out of me, too.

So then it was off to Dagobah with Luke, Wedge, and a Force-Sensitive former Imperial Stormtrooper named Nova Stihl (from the novel Death Star. Seriously, people, you need to read it!). Master Yoda took Nova and Luke as his padawan learners, fixed what Vader broke in my head, enrolled me in Anger Management classes at Swamp U, and confirmed that what Vader said was true: I was a Vergence in the Force. Important events would happen around me, and what I did would alter the outcome of those events in major ways. Like, say, turning Leia into a double agent, becoming a princess, and then saving Nova's life when he should have died on the Death Star.

It was only after the ghost of Obi-wan (Glow Stick as I've taken to calling him) shoved me into the Dark Side Cave for shiny happy vision time, that things started to make some bit of sense. Uncle Palpy was becoming more and more unstable as he continued to snort the Dark Side like it was a never-ending coke line on his coffee table. Out of all the people that had noticed this, Vader and Grand Admiral Thrawn had risen to the top of the sycophants and were now bitchsmacking it out for control of the Empire under the radar as it were. In that cave, I had a vision of what would happen if either of them won.

It wasn't pleasant, to say the least. So I packed up Wedge and the rest of Rogue Squadron, gassed up the short bus, and got my ass to Mars… I mean to Hoth. And that's pretty much where the story left off. I had to find a way to stop either side from winning, somehow fix Leia's head, and ensure that the second Death Star went the way of the first. Oh, and figure out how the Hoth to get home eventually.

All without coffee. Maybe I should just give up while I'm ahead?

"Echo Three to Echo Seven, Solo, can you read me?" Wedge's voice came through the speakers, cutting through my caffeine-less rambling.

I unwound myself from my wad of blankets, leaning forward to listen. Yes, I know that should have been Luke's voice and not Wedge. But Luke was still on Dagobah right now learning to be a Jedi.

"Loud and clear, kid, what's up?"

"I've finished my circuit but I don't pick up any life readings."

"There isn't enough life on this ice cube to fill a space cruiser. Sensors are in place, I'm heading back."

Wedge chuckled. "Right. There's a meteorite that hit the ground near here. I want to check it out. It won't take long."

Oh boy. I knew what that was all about. Time to return those tray-tables to their upright positions and buckle those seatbelts. We were about to crash land back into the Lucas-verse timeline. Already I was subtitling this little slice of hell "Even Stranger Bullshit" instead of ESB. Because lord knows what else was going to go wrong just because I was there.

I glanced at Leia, shaking my head rapidly. I needn't have bothered. My pseudo-sister was already one step ahead of me.

"Tell him to come back right away," The Red Queen said regally, tossing the tail of her brown hair back over her shoulder as she stood. "We don't have time for this kind of curiosity."

"I disagree," General Rieekan said thoughtfully, staring at the same Aurebesh squiggles as Leia. Probably the recorded readout of what Wedge had scanned with his binoculars. "After what happened to the people on Teardrop, we should be cautious."

I stamped down hard on the urge to jump up and down and scream "TOLD YOU SO!" Because I did, or had, rather. I knew what happened to the people on Teardrop courtesy of the Imperial Security Bureau. Those bastards had ordered the slaughter of all civilians around the location of our previous base. I had known it was coming courtesy of the novel "Alliegance," and had argued against staying on Teardrop until I was literally hauled out of the room by Luke and Nova. Of course, it didn't help matters that I was also calling half the council "Fuckwits without the common sense god gave a cockroach."

But that was before my classes at Swamp U. I was better now. Hopefully.

Leia looked away, a pensive-guilty look on her face. Mind-wonkied or not, she was still the Leia we all loved deep down inside. And the deaths of all those civilians on Teardrop weighed heavily on her heart. I jumped out of my chair, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into my portable mound of blankets.

"Not your fault, hon," I said gently, feeling her squeeze my hand. "And I agree with my sis, General. This isn't a good idea. At least send someone out to go with him. Draw straws or something with the rest of the scouts. But don't let anyone go off alone."

Rieekan glanced at his watch. "It's too late to organize an assistance team. By the time they reached him, Commander Antilles will have completed his search and returned. I'm sorry, Councilors. The Commander is on his own for this. We'll maintain radio contact. If something happens, we'll know about it."

That was supposed to be comforting, and Leia nodded in acceptance. I wasn't so easily pacified. Because there was a Wampa creature out there on the loose, all jazzed up at the idea of nomming a Wedge-cicle since his Luke-pop was off the menu. And Wedge didn't have a lightsaber to cut himself free with, either. Let's not forget to add to the Bad Stuff List the fact that, as the General had said, by the time we figured out something was wrong with Wedge, it would be too late for the search team to reach him.

But maybe it would all work out differently because of me. Maybe since it was Wedge instead of Luke, the monster wouldn't attack him. I mean, the original opening for ESB did not include that attack scene. That was only thrown in after Mark Hamill hurt himself in a motorcycle accident days before filming began.

I could hope, dammit. But sometimes you don't have to be a Jedi to have a bad feeling about it.

"I don't like it," I tried again. "Call him back, General. This doesn't feel right to me."

Maybe it was because of the lightsaber hanging from my belt, and the fact that Rieekan had known a Jedi or three in his lifetime. Or maybe it was because he had come to his senses, realizing how close to nightfall it was and that anyone caught out there in the dark was pretty much signing up to become a permanent snowman.

Whatever the reason, he nodded and tapped the comm. switch. "Commander Antilles, report to base. We'll send out a team equipped with shelter ability to check out this meteorite."

And wouldn't you know it, he was greeted with nothing but a burst of static. I _hated_ it when I was right.


	2. You're a Tool Bag!

A/N: Thanks again to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. Special shout-outs to **Nanobot5770, Shadir, As Mad As One Can Get,** and **Admiral Mitth'rawn'uruodo** for the lovely reviews. I can only hope that people find the humor in this story, even as it trends a touch darker as befitting ESB. Enjoy!

**Note:** Most of the dialogue between Han and Leia came from the 1980 novelization of Empire Strikes Back by George Lucas.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Mary owns Mary. Everything else is owned by everyone else. This is purely for fun. Please do not sue.

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"Well, how was I supposed to know it was the wrong tool," I bitched, glaring down at the tool bag slung across my shoulder Tarzan-style. In it where a bunch of long slender things that looked like screwdrivers with different bendy bits where the flat or the "X" blade should have been. "All this crap looks alike to me."

Chewie growled something that sounded suspiciously like he was calling _me_ a tool bag for not knowing the difference between a hydropsanner and a hair dryer. Which I didn't, at least not in this galaxy. And who the hell designs a hair dryer to look like the ugly love child of a microphone and an iPod anyway? I wasn't certain if I should sing into it or try to download the latest Lady Gaga song. Oh, walking around with wet hair on Hoth was pretty much grounds for a full psyche eval. Just in case you were wondering.

Then again, so was showering with real water when there was a perfectly good vibe shower next to you. I hated vibe showers and as long as I could get hot water to dunk my body into, I was going to take advantage of it. If I had to live in a Converse-free galaxy, then the least I could do was have a hot water shower. Some standards I just wasn't willing to give up. The rest of the putzes in my Hell away from Home could suck it.

"Chewbacca says that the lift alternator requires the use of a hydroencapsulator to complete the upgrade," Threepio translated dutifully, which still didn't make the requested tool leap up from the bag and dance a jig to get my attention. "Only then can he continue with the welding portion of the repairs."

I reached both hands into the bag, and pulled out ten different tools. All of which looked alike. "Okay, prissy. You tell me—which one of these almost identical thingies is the thingie in question that Thing 1," I jerked my head upwards to towards Chewie. "Needs to use to fix Thing 2."

"I hardly believe that the use of such names is conducive to completing the repairs Captain Solo requested by the proper—" He tried to sniff irritably. Probably at my calling him Prissy. But that action was cut short when he jumped as the muffled roar from Chewie echoed through the hull of the ship. I had no idea what the walking fur-ball said. Whatever it was, it had his gold-plated finger snapping up quickly to tap Tool Number Seven. "That one, Princess Aurora."

"Thanks. Next time, just point, will ya? Listening to long-winded explanations make me violent. I think they do the same thing to Chewie. Speaking of… Hey, fluffy! Incoming!"

I winged the tool straight up into the air, watching as it ascended towards the hatch in the side of the Falcon. A paw (mostly) the size of my torso reached out and snatched it out of the air. Beside me, Rido the astromech beeped out something in binary that sounded like a snickering laugh. Threepio shot the little red and black astromech a look that would have been a withering glare if, you know, he had a facial structure that could actually move. Rido, or more commonly known as R1D0 (I called him Rido because his designation looked like a hacker name written in l337 speak), cheerfully ignored the not-glare from the other droid.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He is wondering, rather inappropriately I must say, when the wookie is going to tear your arms out of their sockets for calling him 'Fluffy.'"

"And let me guess, the little dude wants odds on the betting pool for that fight, right?"

"As I said, Princess Aurora, it is highly inappropriate."

I reached down a hand, patting Rido affectionately on the top of his dome. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, short-stack. And the answer is never. Chewie and I have an understanding. It's why I'm here slowing him down when he could do this work a lot faster if I wasn't trying to 'help.' You should have been around me this morning, Rido. Man, the things I said would have had you laughing for days."

I didn't need Threepio's translation to know that Rido slumped a little when he realized that not only was impending violence missing from the area around him, but that he had also missed a verbal confrontation between me and Leia—again! Sadly, they were a pretty common occurance these days. So far she'd resisted every one of my attempts to root out the real Leia from beneath Lord Hater's screwy brain blocking.

With a rather fussy if not completely indignant squawk, Rido turned on his proverbial heel and rolled back into the mild panic that served as the main hangar of the base. Probably searching for someone else to provoke.

"That unit is in need of a full memory core replacement," Threepio sniffed. "I do not understand why you tolerate his company."

"So Rido is a 'he' then?"

"Why yes, Princess Aurora, he most certainly is."

"Stop calling me that, and I like him just the way he is. Don't wipe my Astromech or I'll personally wipe you. We clear?"

Threepio looked slightly shaken at that. Most likely because my version of a core wipe involved me, the droid in question, and a sledge hammer.

"Of course, Princess Aurora. Master Luke left explicit instructions that I was to obey Princess Leia while he was away. I can assume that he meant I would obey you as well, Your Highness."

I tried not to shudder at all those 'P' words he was throwing about. "And you wonder why I prefer his company. He listens to me and doesn't call me Princess."

"I doubt very much you would like what he does call you, Your Highness."

"You'd be surprised, goldenrod," I said, watching Rido vanish into the crowd.

Rido was the most unappreciated astromech in the entire base. He was rude, loud, sadistic, snarky, and used to be an Imperial droid before his ship was captured during a supply raid. One lucky shot—or unlucky if you listen to him tell the story—had hit a panel near his storage compartment, releasing an ion arc that had shut him down hard. When he'd come to, he was wearing a restraining bolt and being hauled to the nearest tech for reprogramming. Yet much like I had said about my own reprogramming, the joke was on them. The Imp-dick that had created Rido's personality must have been having a very bad day. Like, one moron away from completely losing it, kind of bad day. He poured all his hate and will to dominate into that one little guy, hard wiring it in so deeply that even the most intense mind-wipes couldn't remove his core personality.

So while Rido had no memory of serving the Empire aside from his initial capture, he was still Sauron Incarnate for the droid world. I swore that I saw X-wings shudder and try to jerk away when he rolled past them, terrified at the thought of interfacing with Rido the Wicked. Computers went dark, hiding inside their central processors from the boogey-mech that haunted their cybernetic dreams.

I couldn't help but love the little guy for it. He was the only one that was in a perminant bad mood like me. Since arriving here on Hoth, he'd become the Hobbies to my Calvin, the Robin to my Batman, the Double to my Trouble.

And speaking of trouble… It was currently heading towards us, wrapped in leather and fur and smelling like wet dog. Tautauns all smelled like wet dog to me. Don't know why, they just did.

"Head's up, Chewie," I whispered, knowing full well he'd be able to hear me. Wookie hearing was damn near perfect. "Your boss is back."

Chewie stuck his head out of the hatch like a meerkat, the large black welders mask making him look slightly like an anthropomorphic Vader. I wisely kept that one to myself. See, all that studying at Swamp U had paid off. Master Yoda would have been so proud.

Chewie, however, had no such compunctions. He roared at the approaching pile of cloth and fur that bore Han's face, waving the welding tool back and forth like he was either trying to land a plane or perform an interpretive dance.

"Cold isn't the word for it, Chewie," Han growled right back. "I'll take a good fight any day over all this hiding and freezing. How are you coming with those lifters?"

Whatever Chewie said next had Han looking slightly wounded and more than a little upset. "All right already, don't lose your temper. I'll go report and then I'll give you a hand. As soon as those lifters are fixed, we're out of here."

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

Probably not the best thing in the world to have said. Han rounded on me, planting his hands on his hips. "You got something to say, Your Unholy Worship?"

"Uh, yeah. And I already said it, thanks. In case you weren't listening, I'll repeat it. You aren't leaving. Otherwise, you would have done so by now."

"I know you were busy taking a vacation on Dagobah and all while the rest of us were battling the Empire," Han snapped. "But in case you missed the update, we haven't had time to blast out of here. The Empire has been one step ahead of us the entire time and we can't figure out why."

I winced, unconsciously flicking a glance in the direction of the command center. In the direction of the traitor in their midst. Leia was still reporting to Vader, alright. It was one of the reasons I hadn't come out and said I wasn't really Princess Aurora Soresen, that I was really Mary Vasquez from a planet far away from this galaxy. No one would believe me, for one. There was enough evidence out there for anyone to research thanks to Hater and his bloody Imperial bloody Intelligence bloody Division. I'd look like a mental case in no time if I tried that.

The other reason being that if I denounced myself, I would also have to explain why. And that would in turn denounce Leia. If the Rebellion lost its one source of pride, it's beautiful jewel of a Princess, it would crumble from within. I knew that deep down in my heart. All those systems that had pledged itself to the Alliance solely on the charismatic words of Princess Leia Organa would withdraw its support. The Rebellion would die, and Hater would have won.

I was supposed to be finding a way to stop that.

Han's hand landed hard on my shoulder, startling me out of my dark reverie. "You know something, don't you," he said firmly, quietly. "You know what's going on with the Empire."

"I have suppositions," I corrected. "And trust me, if I was to say them out loud, it would do more harm than good. You have to trust me, Han. Right now we need to focus on what we can change. And I need your help to do that. I need you to stay, to help me with Leia. You know something is wrong with her."

"Aside from having a heart colder than this planet?" he snapped. "Yeah, I'd say something was wrong with her."

"Oh please, like you're pristinely clean, either, flyboy," I smirked. "We've all got skeletons in our closets."

"Some more than others," he retorted, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at me. "Some people's skeletons are alive and breathing and offering cash rewards for the return of their wayward lover."

He was referring to the bounty on my head set out by Grand Admiral Thrawn, wanting me back alive and unharmed. More to the point, he was referring to all those rumors across Imperial space that Thrawn was wicked pissed with Vader over my "capture" by the rebels. That he wanted his lover back with a vengeance. All of that was pure crap, of course, a story cooked up by Thrawn and Thrass in order to counter the one that Vader had created.

Again, it all spiraled back to the war of control going on behind the Imperial lines. Vader created the rumor that I was the love of Thrawn's life, complete with an evidence trail a mile long to back it up. This was to cast suspicion across Thrawn's impeccably perfect record, making him seem less the genius he was and more like every other shmoe out there in uniform, flexing his Imperial muscle just to get what he wanted.

Yet Thrawn was smarter than that. He had taken it a step further and perpetuated the rumor, going so far as to have a rather public display of affection with me right before the Death Star bit the big one. It had turned that portion of Vader's plan on its head, especially when Thrawn himself had orchestrated my "kidnapping" by capturing Wedge Antilles and a few other X-wing pilots, putting them under crappy guard, and knowing me well enough that I would seize the opportunity to help them escape. He'd even been kind enough to have a shuttle fueled and ready and just perfectly placed so we couldn't ignore it during our escape.

It was a brilliant political move, honestly. With me out there in Rebel hands, and he acting the part of the distraught Admiral placing his duty over his heart's desire, he was gaining more of a following than Vader could have possibly dreamed. Last count, according to limited Alliance Intelligence, had more and more ships flocking to Thrawn's banner than before.

And all the while, the bounty on my head continued to increase in size, proving that he would stop at nothing to reclaim the love of his life. Or more to the point, the love of all that knowledge packed into my head about how things would play out in this universe. Please, the man didn't love me anymore than I loved him. We actually used the other "L" word for each other. To quote Elphaba and Galinda from Wicked:

Loathing. Pure unadulterated loathing.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the side of the Falcon. Against a portion of the hull that still sported a great deal of carbon scoring from a direct turbolazer hit. "So, you never did tell me how that trip to Ord Mantell turned out for you. Oh, wait—you never got to land, did you. Something about a certain Mandalorian nearly taking your ship alive, right? I won't say his name aloud, but I hear his initials are Boba Fett."

The look in his eyes could have melted all of Hoth. So could have whatever came out of his mouth next, if there wasn't the utter laughter pouring from the Falcon in the form of Wookie guffaws. The Wookie in question popped his head out of a completely different hatch than before, and growled out something I couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, it had Han flushing slightly, and probably wanting to whip out a padded mallet for a game of Whack-a-Wookie. When his eyes turned back in my direction, they weren't so angry anymore.

"Do I want to know what he said?" I dared ask.

"Depends," he replied, smirking slightly. "Do you want to be referred to as the sulking child crying because she threw her favorite toy over the side of the walkway, or the child crying because she wants what other people have?"

I threw a rather nasty glare of my own at the section of the Falcon I thought Chewie was in. "What are you, Supernanny?" I said, slapping the side of the ship. Hoping it would reverberate back to him. "When did you get the right to nurse-maid me?"

Chewie huffed out something that was a cross between a laugh and an actual sentence. I turned to Han expectantly.

"He says that you need to learn Shriwook. I'm not your walking translator."

"Bullocks. What did he really say?"

"That he earned the right to nursemaid you about eighty years before you were born."

"Stupid long-lived walking carpets," I pouted, knowing he was right.

Han and I were both acting like spoiled brats. But could you blame us? We were at a serious crossroads here. Both facing an ever-increasing bounty. Both not wanting to be here anymore. And both trapped by the love we felt for the same woman. His being romantic, and I really enjoying the part about being Leia's sister, even if it was fake. Let's not forget the monkey made of guilt pounding on my back for putting Leia in this situation to begin with.

"Stay," I said at the same time he said "Come with us."

"I can't," I sighed. "I'd make you even more of a target for hunters, number one. And number two, Leia needs me. She needs us both. So stay."

"That woman doesn't know what she needs."

"But you do," I said, for once not being sarcastic at all. "You know her better than you think."

For a moment, a sheer perfect moment, I thought I had gotten through to him. He was my key, my way of cracking through the Darth Darling personality that Vader had shoved into Leia's head. Because lord knows I had tried everything else! Without him, without that strong love that needed to blossom between them, I wasn't certain I would be able to save her. Nothing short of a Yoda-vention would at that point. Yoda may have had the Force as his ally, but Han had sheer stubborn determination. I wasn't certain which one was the more powerful of the two.

Han shook his head and my heart sank. "No," he said at last. "No, I need to go for the same reason you won't go with me. If I don't pay off Jabba, I'm a dead man. And no amount of ratholes like this is going to protect me forever. Jabba doesn't care about Empires or Rebels. He cares about his profit margin. And that won't go away, no matter which side ends up on top of this conflict. I won't have her watch me go down in flames," he said quietly, as if to himself, his eyes going hard again. "And I won't take her down with me."

Oh son of a… he was going to be all noble and self-sacrificing and junk. Turn away from the love of his life in order to protect her, when doing that was the exact opposite of what he needed to do. Lord save me from well-intentioned lovers. Why couldn't every romance be like mine and Praji's, where you could call each other a dumbass when you deserved it!

Because Han was being super, incredibly dumb right now.

"Wait!" I said, watching him trudge off towards the Command Center, trying to free myself from the tool bag.

"Wait!" Threepio called after me, trailing behind like the golden retriever he was. "Your Highness, wait! You are no longer permitted to enter the command center. Princess Leia…"

The rest of that was drown out as I lost my robotic babysitter in the crowd, running after Han.

* * *

Oh, this wasn't going to be good.

I thought that as I stared down the two guards stationed out front of the over glorified cave hole that was sectioned off for command. It didn't even have a door. Nothing but ice for walls and a roof. Which never really stuck me as the brightest of ideas. Let's take a room made of ice and fill it with computers guaranteed to heat up the place enough to melt the walls. And while we were at it, let's just nail a bunch of electrical conduit onto the ice walls, too. With metal nails. You know, for good measure.

Morons.

I stood in the opening, my way barred by two guys that I tried to tell myself were just doing their jobs. The rising tide of fear and panic in me wouldn't listen to that, though. No, it wanted to manifest its own set of Force powers and make like Vader with the whole choke-and-throw routine. Han just couldn't leave now. He couldn't! How in the world was I supposed to fix Leia if he left?!

"General, there isn't a hint of life in the area," Han was saying to Rieekan. "But all the perimeter markings are set, so you'll know if anyone comes calling."

Rieekan nodded. "Has Commander Antilles reported in yet?"

"He's checking out a meteorite that hit near him. He'll be in soon."

I rolled my eyes at that. If he was coming back at all, he would have radioed in by now. But that was part of the argument that got me banned from the command center. I pretty much had a meltdown on Rieekan when nothing but static filled the comm when he tried to call Wedge. As much as I tried to apologize, to blame calling him a blind idiot on my sore lack of caffeine, it wasn't enough. I was banned until I could get my notorious temper back under control. So much for Yoda's lessons in self control.

Apparently Chewie and Han were the only ones on this base that understood me, knew how to soothe my anger with sarcasm of their own. That was why Chewie was letting me help with repairs to the Falcon. It was either that or come and visit me in the brig. Again. Seriously, that happened way too often these days.

"General, I can't stay," Han said, earning a swift stare from Leia. "I think it's time for me to move on."

Rieekan sighed, as if knowing this was coming. "You're good in a fight, Solo. I hate to lose you."

"Thank you, General. But there's a price on my head. If I don't play off Jabba the Hutt, I'm a walking dead man."

"A death mark is not an easy thing to live with."

"Nor is living with my foot up your butt, dumbass!" I called out, causing both men to glance my direction. "No, not you this time, Rieekan. I'm referring to Captain Dumbass this time, who really is a dumbass if he thinks he can get away from me."

No surprise. Everyone ignored that. It was like I was talking to myself, only less satisfying. At least_ I_ agreed with me… most of the time.

Either my shout or Han's lack of give-two-craps got Leia's attention. The Queen of Heart(less)s strode over to her future husband, crossing her arms over her chest in a fairly decent imitation of Vader. The look in her eyes was all pure Leia, though. It was cold and distant and so full of buried hurt that my eyes ached with her unshed tears. How she managed to put so much passion into a single look was mind-boggling.

Somebody call the Oscars. She had this year's Most Dramatic Look in the bag.

Han wasn't immune to it, either. He swallowed convulsively, the pain in his eyes totally ruining the casual nonchalance of his smile. "I guess this is it, Your Highness."

And he stood there. Waiting. Like any sane, normal, wonderful person would. For her to say the two words that meant everything. Two tiny little words—

"That's right."

I would have face planted the ice wall beside the guard in frustration if he hadn't had caught my shoulders to stop me. "I'll take 'Crap Leia Shouldn't Have Said' for a thousand, Alex," I moaned, still holding out hope that somehow she would have said the two right words.

The 'don't go' or 'don't leave' or 'stay please' or, hell, I would have accepted 'I guess' at this point. Anything but "that's right." Because it wasn't right. It was pretty freaking far from right. Okay, it was _right_ right according the Lucas-verse, but then again why was I caring about him right now when he had the brilliant idea to sell out to Disney. You know, the people who thought it was nifty keen to slap Mouse Ears on the Death Star for Star Wars Weekends? What was next, having the Death Star fart Tinker Belle glitter instead of a death ray?

And this so wasn't "right" when his walking away this time might be for good. There would be no epic love story to rock the galaxy, no epic Jedi squirts running around saving the universe, and no future epic love story between Jaina and Jagged Fel. And that would really piss me off. Because I loved me some Jaina/Jag story!

The hurt in Han's voice made my heart cry. "Well, don't get all mushy on me. So long, Princess."

If I hadn't been trying to imbed my visage into the ice wall, I would have remembered that Han stormed out of the command center and took an immediate right. Right in the direction I was standing, barreling into me and my guards as if attempting to pick up that elusive 7-10 split. And yes, for the record, I did go sprawling into the wall when he slammed into me.

"Han, watch it," Leia snapped, sparing a moment to help me pick my face out of the wall. "Rori, are you alright?"

"Yeah, peachy," I winced, feeling around my face. Nope, nothing broken, thank goodness. "If you don't mind, I was just—"

"—deciding to leave with me," Han cut in, gripping my arm and pulling me rather roughly out of Leia's arms. "It's better for everyone around you if those of us with prices on our heads are far away. Makes it easier for you to do the only thing you love—run the rebellion."

What the eff was this crap, a preview of Jerry Springer: The Rebellion Special? Part of me was expecting Rieekan to walk out of the Command Center next to tell Mon Mothma he was the father of her love child or something. Maybe Chewie pulling bouncer duty and carrying a clawing Leia off the stage screaming profanities. This so wasn't in the script!

Awkward did not even begin to cover this fight. "Maybe I should go—"

"No, stay," Han snapped, tugging me up beside him. "You've been with us since the beginning. Only fitting that you'd be here at the end."

"No, you should go, Rori. This is personal between me and Captain Solo," Leia snapped in turn, grabbing my other arm and hauling me across to her side. Going toe to toe with Han.

Who wasn't having any of that, apparently. Nor was he letting go of my arm.

"As her Unholy Worship reminded me," He said between his teeth. "The bounty hunter we ran into on Ord Mantell changed my mind."

"Does Luke know?"

I wondered if sticking my fingers in my ears and screeching a song at the top of my lungs would drive home the point that I didn't want to be here. Or force them to flee together to save what was left of their sanity. Maybe a Brittany Spears song would do it? Ooops I did it again… I screwed up the plot, got lost in the fic. Oh baby baby…

"He'll know when he gets back. If he ever gets back, or even cares." Han countered. "Don't give me that look. Every day more bounty hunters are searching for me and Rori. I'm going to pay off Jabba before he sends any more of his remotes, hunters , killers, and who knows what else. I've got to get this price off my head while I still _have_ a head. Rori—"

"Leave me out of this!"

"—will have better luck with me. The Empire isn't searching for me right now. They're _all_ over you guys."

Either something in that got to the real Leia, or she was a better actress than I gave her credit for. She looked truly pained. "But we need you," Leia said softly.

"We?"

"Yes."

"What about _you_?"

"Me?" she blinked at that, confused. "I don't know what you mean."

And the award for the Dumbest Thing Ever To Say goes to...

Han smirked, shaking his head. "No, you probably don't."

And started to storm away. Which didn't work out well for me, given that he had a death grip on one of my arms and Leia had her nails dug into the other. The result of that was the worst conga line in creation. With no one laughing and everyone looking ridiculous. Just more so than usual in a conga line.

"And what precisely am I supposed to know," Leia seethed, gaining her own death grip on my arm to keep up with him.

Oh, just want I always wanted to be—a human rope.

"You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me."

"Well, yes, you are a great help to us. You are a natural leader—"

"No," han cut her off, thankfully (for my arms) coming to a complete stop and rounding on her. "That's not it. Come on. Ohhh come on!"

And then it sank in, the realization that he knew that she liked him. Liked him more than the casual sex they'd been having since Teardrop. Or, if you listen to her side of it, the casual sex they should have been having since Teardrop, however she'd been too busy to do anything other than sleep in her bed. No wonder Han was so pissy these days. Could you blame the man? Well, sure, you could. But would you?

"You're imagining things," Leia sputtered imperially.

"Am I? I think you were afraid I was going to leave without giving you a goodbye kiss."

"I'd just as soon kiss a wookie."

"I can arrange that. Believe me, you could use a good kiss. You've been so busy giving orders, you've forgotten what it's like to be kissed. If you'd have let got for a moment, I could have helped you. But it's too late now, sweetheart. Your big opportunity is flying out of here."

She actually snarled in disgust. "I think I can survive."

"Good luck!"

"You don't even care if the—"

"Spare me! Don't tell me about the rebellion again," He all but yelled, grabbing my arm and starting the Tug-of-Mary all over again. "It's all you think about. You're as cold as this planet."

Leia tugged back. "And you think you're the one to apply some heat?"

"Uh, guys, I'm starting to lose some feeling in my limbs here. Could you not try to rip me half—"

"STAY OUT OF THIS, RORI!" they both yelled at me in unison. Neither letting go of my arms.

"Sure, I would have," Han continued, indifferently. "If I were interested anymore. But I don't think it'd be much fun. We'll meet again. Maybe by then you'll have warmed up a little."

"You have all the breeding of a bantha," she wrinkled her nose. "But not as much class. Enjoy your trip, hot shot. Good luck getting clearance to leave with my sister on board. It's not going to happen. You aren't going to take anything I love from me, Han Solo."

"Well, considering the only thing you love is what you see in the mirror, I think I can handle that!"

She didn't respond, just continued to stride down the hallway back to the Command Center. As if she hadn't told the love of her life to go screw. Han stared after her a long moment, shaking his head in disgust. With himself or her, I couldn't tell anymore.

"C'mon," he said, dragging me down the hallway with him. "We've got a helluva lot of work ahead of us if we're going to get out of here soon. And the sooner the better. I hate this place more and more."

Han may have had many problems in this galaxy (Mandalorians, life-debt-obsessed-Wookies, a giant slug wanting to nail his face to the wall over a bad smuggling debt, mind-wonkied princesses stealing his heart, and probably more unpaid parking and speeding tickets than all of New York combined, just to name a few) , but speed wasn't one of them. The man was only slightly taller than I was, but you couldn't tell by the ground gobbling strides he took. I slid behind him more than followed, as if we were a big sled team o' failure riding the we're-gonna-dies throughout the base.

"Woah, there, flyboy," I interjected, wobbling on my feet. "What if I said I don't want to go with you?"

"You'd be an idiot to stay. This rebellion is going to go belly-up and you know it. The Empire is going to win. They've got us out-classed, out-gunned, and out-maneuvered at every turn. Cut and run, Princess. The Empire isn't going to look for you in the places I've got in mind."

"And what could possibly possess you to keep me around?" I countered. "I can't shoot to save my life—or yours—I can't fly, I can barely navigate. Chewie just proved I can't fix anything, and I have a mouth on me to ruin the best of smuggler deals. What can I possibly do to earn my keep?"

"If I can't save her, I'll save you," he said flatly. "Besides, you've proven you can read people fairly well."

"If you're referring to saving Nova from you, think again, pal. That was a one-time deal. And you can't save me from someone like Grand Admir—"

And then it clicked.

"Insurance," I breathed, nearly jerking his arm out of the socket this time when I dug in my heels. "That's what this is about. You know the Empire is going to win and you know you can't avoid them forever. But you're gambling on the fact that Thrawn will win the war for control, and that Thrawn won't shoot first if he thinks I'm with you. That's why you're taking me."

He hunched his shoulders in a wince. "That's part of it," He muttered, shifting his grip to my wrist and tugging me back into motion. "A very small part. I also made a promise to the kid that I'd see you safe. That's one that I can at least keep. Hey, Goldenrod," he called, catching sight of Threepio. "Go make sure her Unholy Worship is packed up. She's leaving with me on the Falcon tonight, one way or the other. Anything not on board gets left behind. Move it."


	3. Survivor: the Hoth Edition

A/N: An update! Yes, I know I am behind. I apologize for that. Been super busy with work and family visits. Many thanks to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, followed and loved this story. Special thanks to **MacDii, Shadir, Nerdman3000, Zyanadryn, Nanobot5770, Chocolatam,** and **Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo** for the lovely reviews. :D They always help make this story better. I truly appreciate them!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Mary owns Mary. Everyone else owns everyone else. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

I stared at the amassed collection of things that represented the sum total of all my earthly possessions and tried not to scream. Not because the amount was tiny, miniscule compared to what I had owned back home on Earth. I pretty much now owed about as much stuff as I had there, save for actual furniture. Clothes, shoes, minimal amounts of jewelry. The only difference being that the shoes weren't all Converse, and the jewelry was all real. Well, the jewels that I hadn't sold off in order to help the Rebellion were real.

Most of this stuff was gifts from Thrawn and Thrass during the hadn't-really-happened course of our various relationships. And all purchased by Vader in order to make those relationships appear real. It gave me no small thrill to know some spacer or smuggler was now wearing one of those pain-stakingly selected gems, the money from their purchase had going to a new X-wing or a new whatever-the-rebellion-needed-at-the-time thing. When your worst enemy was a perpetually pissed off Sith Lord who could choke the life out of you with a glance, you took your pot-shots at him very carefully.

From a very safe distance. Like, say, the other side of the galaxy.

"Really," I moaned, face in my hands. "You had to turn on the heater in _my_ chamber?"

Everything I owned was now soaking wet, some of that water turning into ice crystals before my eyes. Freezing rock solid in the lovely (sarcasm here) Hoth air. I glared at Threepio and Artoo, trying very hard to come up with an annoying nickname for them. But I was running out of two-some nicknames to throw at Thrawn and Thrass already. Coming up with something for this duo just seemed too much work.

And speaking of the Bane of My Existence and his brother, The Harbinger of Dicktitude…

Aside from the minimum amount of jewelry I needed to keep in order to preserve my "princess" cover, I had kept for two items for myself. One was the bracelet that Thrawn had given Aurora in one of Vader's implanted memories. It was a platinum bangle-style bracelet, and dangling from it was a simple platinum heart. Encased in that heart was a drop of Alderaan's ocean water and a tiny grain of sand from its beaches.

Inscribed upon the back, as if placed with loving and tender (as if!) care, was the simple word "Home." Written in both Cheunh and in Aurebesh.

He'd given it to me, according to my fake memories, to show that home was wherever you wished it to be. I'd always carry Alderaan around with me, even while banished from its courts, within my heart. Just as he would always carry Csilia around in his heart, even if he would never see its icy plains again for nearly the same reason. It also was to symbolize that when we had been lovers, I would be part of what made this side of the galaxy his new home. I would be part of his heart. Thus the dual language.

I'd tried to give it to Leia, despite the way the Aurora memories screamed and begged in the back of my mind. Leia wouldn't take it, refusing to accept my last piece of 'our' home.

The second thing I kept was a golden hair stick with a opal on it the size of my thumb. At least, I think it was an opal. Opals from Earth were incredibly fragile, but this thing was strong enough to shatter diamonds. It was an actual gift from Thrass, as in a gift to Mary from him. Or at least I think it was, given that Lorana had placed it in the trunk of dresses she'd had made for me. I still had no idea why he'd give me something. That man hated me more than Thrawn did.

Like the charm from Vader/Thrawn, this one was also inscribed with lettering in Cheunh, the lovely symbols gliding up and down its length. But I'd be damned if I knew what it said. Maybe that was why I kept it. Who knew at this point? I kept it locked up in a jewel case, along with Thrawn/Vader's bracelet. It was a good thing that I did, because it seemed that the rest of my possessions were ruined now.

Artoo warbled something, and I thought Threepio was going to jump out of his skin…err… shell. "It is not my fault, you malfunctioning tin can," he shrilled. "I did not ask you to turn on the thermal heater in Princess Aurora's chambers. I merely commented that it was freezing in her rooms. But it's supposed to be freezing here!"

Beside me, Rido made a sound that could only be a snicker of derision. I couldn't tell who he was laughing at the most: the two of them or me. Probably me. But only because he was growing bored with laughing at them.

"Chillax, chrome-dome," I threw at Rido, bopping him lightly with the back of one hand. "You aren't perfect, either. Look, the three of you had better come up with a way to get everything dried and packed up on the Falcon before Han decides to use you as walking target practice. As soon as he's done with the lift repairs, we're out of here."

Rido trilled again and I shot him a hard look. "That way better not include fire, as in 'setting it on,'" I warned. "Or anything else that involves destroying my stuff. I may not have much, but it's still mine. Figure it out."

"Oh, my, Princess Aurora, are you certain you are departing with Captain Solo?" Threepio asked worriedly.

"Uh, yeah. I said I was, didn't I? And please, for the love of all that is holy, stop calling me that."

"Of course, Your Highness," he continued without missing a beat, making me want to stab myself in the face with my lightsaber. "Might I have a word with you in that case?"

"Unless it involves how to dry out my belongings, I'm not interest."

"It involves your sister, Your Highness."

I sighed, settling back into the navigator's chair. I had no idea why I always came to the ship's cockpit to be alone with my negative thoughts. But I always did, finding some sort of comfort in the nav station. Maybe it was a secret hope that I'd find a way home one day, that maybe earth was a planet in the Unknown Regions of the galaxy and that I'd been kidnapped from it for whatever reason. And if I searched long and hard enough, I could eventually find it. Maybe ask Praji to stay a while with me.

Or maybe I just liked the solid _thunk_ sound my head made as I bumped it into the nav panel. Yeah, it was probably that.

"What does the Red Queen want now? Han isn't letting me off the ship, and every time I try to step onto the landing ramp, that little tracker doohickie around my ankle goes off," I kicked up one leg, flashing the metal cuff with its clicky lights that was welded—yes, _welded _thanks to Chewie!—closed around my left ankle. "I don't want to be hauled like a misbehaving brat back into the cargo hold—again. It's just as bad as the brig."

"Perhaps if Commander Antilles had something similar, we may be able to locate him."

I lifted my head from the nav console so fast that I smacked the back of it on another console. That had hurt. "Run that by me again?"

"It's the reason Princess Leia wishes to speak with Captain Solo," Threepio continued, sounding very put upon. "She is worried about Commander Antilles and hoped he would be here with you. No one seems to know—"

"Wedge isn't back yet?" Han cut in, appearing in the cockpit entrance and dropping the load of tools he'd been carrying.

"No, Captain," Threepio continued mournfully. "Princess Leia has been trying to reach you on the communicator to inform you. It must be malfunctioning."

Han cursed beneath his breath. "No, it's not. I turned it off like an idiot. I don't want to talk to her. And I didn't think that Wedge might be trying…"

He turned swiftly on his heel, striding out of the cockpit. I was on my feet also, right behind him. "Han, we don't know for sure if anything happened to him."

"We don't know for sure anything hasn't."

"Isn't that my line? I'm fairly certain my only usefulness in this galaxy is negativity and sarcasm."

Han smirked slightly. "We think too much alike, your Unholy worship. Now stay in the ship."

He'd crossed the line. Not the imaginary line like we all say we'll never cross in order to hold onto our principles. No, he crossed that stupid painted bright orange line (I swear, what is with this galaxy and that particular color of orange? Do they do it just to piss me off?!) right where the deck of the Falcon ended and the landing ramp began. If I crossed that line, I'd set the alarm off again.

But if Wedge was in trouble…

Screw it, I jumped over the line. See, I didn't step over it. Big difference, right? I mean, he told me not to _step_ over it…

The Falcon's central computer did not agree with my splitting hairs on that logic. I could tell by the muffled growl coming from the engine room. Sounding suspiciously like Chewie had said something not worth repeating and slammed down the tool he'd been using. Thumping sounds like a pissed off elephant charging followed the sound of that curse. I shrieked and nearly jumped onto Rido, almost asking him to Hi-ho Silver me to safety! Though I highly doubt an astromech could outrun a Wookie in short distances.

Instead, I jumped on Han's back, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Kriff, Rori! What are you doing?"

"Wedge is my friend, too, fly-boy," I said, blowing my bangs out of my face. "If he's hurt, I want to help."

"You can help best by getting back on the Falcon and waiting for me," he said, glancing to the side. "It's okay, Chewie. I've got her."

I glanced to the side, too, and nearly leapt into Han's arms again, Scooby-doo style. Chewie was literally right behind me. As in close enough that I could wear him as a coat. I hadn't heard him, sensed him, or felt that stir in the air that let you know someone was behind you.

"Seriously, Chew-toy! I'm going to hang a bell around your neck or something. You can't go around stalking people like that. You'll give them heart attacks. Bad kitty!"

He growled/gruffed a reply, something that was most likely sarcastic. I turned, mouth opening to ask Han what it was that the silent Hulk had said. I got his hand over my mouth for my troubles, like he should have done to Threepio in the movie.

"Deck officer!" he called, trying to catch a passing Rebel's attention. "Deck officer!"

The man stopped. "Yes, sir?"

"Has Commander Antilles reported back yet?"

"I haven't seen him, sir," the he replied. "It's possible he came in through the south entrance?"

"Possible?" Han asked, making the word out to be completely different from its definition. "Why don't you go find out? It's getting dark out there."

He turned to me, or rather once again over my shoulder. "Threepio," he began, the look on his face enough to have the protocol droid stepping backward. "Go tell your precious princess that Wedge is dead unless he shows up soon."

"Oh, my!" Threepio exclaimed, shuffling off as fast as he could, Artoo quick on his heels.

"As for you, Princess," Han said, turning that gaze back on me and dropping his hand from my face. "It's back into the cargo hold with you. You know the rules on my ship."

"Are you serious? Han, I was trying to help Wedge! And you can't think I'd let you—"

It was the wrong choice of words. It really was. Any Imperial would have grabbed me by the arm and hauled me off without another word. Or shot me with a blue stun bolt to expedite the situation. Han had more class than that. He literally Rhett Butler'ed me. As in scooped me up like Scarlett O'Hara and tossed me over his shoulder without missing a beat.

"Oh, hell no! You aren't Tarzan here, and I'm certainly not Jane. You best put me down!"

"Or what?" he asked.

"Or I'll scream is what!"

Han shrugged, a good trick with me tossed over one shoulder. "Go ahead if you think a trip to the infirmary will do your would-be rescuers any good."

"Ha! I call your bluff, home slice. You wouldn't hurt them."

"You're right. I wouldn't. But Chewie would. Especially if he thinks keeping you on the Falcon is in your best interest. He's taken a shine to you, Princess, for whatever reason."

I braced both hands on his back, pushing my torso up so I could sorta peer over my—his—shoulder. Chewie had a heavy length of pipe held in one ginormous hand like a club. Beside him Rido waited, all his shock probes extended. The little guy practically vibrated with the eagerness to cause some damage. Not in defense of me or Chewie, of course. Just for the sheer thrill of it.

"Captain So…" That had to be the deck officer, his statement trailing off at the sight of a Princess being carried like a sack of… uh… whatever passed for root veggies in this galaxy.

"Make it quick, Officer," Han snapped, adjusting me to a better position on his shoulder. "I've got a precious cargo, here."

"Uh, sir. Uh… Yes, sir. Commander Antilles hasn't come through the south entrance. He may have forgotten to check in."

"Yeah, right," I snapped. "That isn't likely. And you know it, dude."

"Uh, y-yes, Your Highness."

Han slapped out a hand, landing his palm sharply on my butt. I yelped. "Enough out of the committee. Officer, are the speeders ready?"

"I am not a committee!"

I would have given anything to see the look on that guy's face. If the tone of his voice was any indication, he was probably about as white as the snow around us. Watching a Princess being manhandled and spanked and insulted... I was so going to kick Solo for this. _If_ I could get down. _If_ I could get him away from Chewie long enough to do it. And _if_ I wasn't going to die of embarrassment on the spot.

That was a lot of "ifs" even for me.

"Uh… Not yet," the deck officer continued, sounding like he was trying to keep a straight face. "Adapting them to the cold is proving difficult. Maybe by morning—"

"We'll have to go out on Tautauns. Chewie, come take this back to the ship," he said, handing me over to the Wookie. He turned back to the deck officer. "I'll take sector four."

I saw the deck officer's face finally. I was wrong. It wasn't white as snow. It was red as blood.

Because he was trying not to laugh.

At me.

As were the faces of the small throng of officers that had gathered to see the spectacle.

Said small throng consisting of mostly Rogue Squadron, I noted. And they were all equally amused at watching the spoiled brat of a princess that had tortured them all the way to Dagobah and back get what she deserved. For the first time, I wished that I had killed the Aurora part of me in that cave on Dagobah rather than imprisoning her in my psyche. She'd made their lives hell when she'd been in control of my body. Now… now I was tasting payback meant for her.

If this ended up on Intergalatic Youtube or Spacebook or whatever passed for social media out here, I was going to kill someone.

I glared down at Rido. "You better not have been recording this."

His response was that snickering beep-laugh.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, throwing my hands up in frustration. I could do that, because I was sitting on Chewie's shoulder with one of the tree trunks he called arms wrapped around my lower legs. I wasn't going anywhere, but at least he wasn't cave-manning me like his boss had. "Chewie, tell me you have a sledgehammer on board."

A door on Rido's side compartment opened, a claw-like-probe extending. It looked like one of those cheap little grabby hands that people often used to pick up trash off the side of the road or reach high objects in their houses, except this one was fully articulated and had five prongs instead of three. And wouldn't you know it, the tiny jerk flexed down four of the five prongs, leaving one extended. You didn't need three guesses to figure out which one it was.

I would have been angry at him for it if I wasn't so gosh darn proud. He was _so_ my droid!

"I'll cover sector twelve," Laurent (Rouge-Three) called, heading towards the tauntaun pens. "Have Control set their scanners to screen Alpha."

"Roger that," Morvane (Rogue-Four) put in, making the call. "I'll pick up sectors Two and Three. They're relatively small and closer to the base. I can cover both before full night fall…"

"There isn't time for Control to get its surveillance cameras operating," Dack Ralter (Rogue Six) added. "Not with Wedge out there unprotected as long as he has been. We need to move and move fast. I'll pick up sector one."

At that, the rest of the Rogues scattered, calling out where they were willing to search in order to find their lost commander. I had to respect them for their dedication, both to their friend and commander, but also to a man that exuded officer-like control when he needed to. Of course, I was referring to Han. Deep inside, beneath the layers of scruffy and smuggler that he cloaked himself in, you could see the military officer that he had once been. I wouldn't call him an Imperial Officer like I had before, because he really wasn't. They may have trained him, but he wasn't one of them. He never had been. Just like he wasn't really as smuggler.

He was a Corellian warrior through and through. And like Leia—well, like Leia before Vader played Mind-sweeper with her brain space—he was a patriot of his home planet. He loved it as much as the real Leia loved the Rebellion. I so needed to get those two back together. Seeing them apart like this was like looking at half the Mona Lisa. Incomplete and sad that such a work of art couldn't be understood in its united complexities.

I gave myself a shake. Damn, I had to stop hanging out with Thrawn. All that art crap was starting to rub off on me. But first, I had to stop Han from making the second worst mistake of his life.

"Wait!" I called. "Han, wait a minute! You'll need this!"

I unclipped the lightsaber from my belt, tossing it to him. He caught it in one hand, staring down at it in confusion. "Why do I need this?"

"Because," I said. "You aren't making it back tonight."

Chewie growled and Han nodded to him. "You had a vision, didn't you?"

Vision… my code word with those who knew the real truth about me, and about my "knowledge of the future." Han didn't know the truth, and so he really believed I was some sort of Jedi-prodigy-vision-manifesting-person. My knowledge of future events had helped to counter some of what Leia unwittingly told her Daddy Dearest, and the rest of the base had taken to listening when I spoke about it.

Hence, an unbelievable position on the Rebellion Inner Council as an advisor. Said position wasn't enough to keep me out of the brig when I couldn't keep my temper in check, yet it was enough to keep me from being tossed out of the Rebellion on my ass. And it kept a lot of people alive and out of imperial hands. So they grinned, bared it, and took the good with the bad when it came to little ol' moi. Sorta like Thrawn and Co. did.

Huh, now that I thought about it, a lot of people on both sides of the war were making allowances for me these days. Did that have to do with me being a Vergence in the Force? I should look into that. Like, say, when Wedge wasn't playing Luke's role in Survivor: the Hoth Edition.

"Yeah, I had a vision, alright. It involved you needing this when you found Wedge. So get moving, stay safe, and don't hesitate to use it. You feel me?"

He gave me a tiny lop-sided grin, reaching up to pat my knee in thanks (it was about all he could reach of me given that was doubling as Chewie's new fashion accessory). "I will, Princess. Count on it."

"Stop calling me that."

That lopsided grin broke out into full glory. "Sorry, Rori. I thought that sounded better than—"

"You're wasting time, fly-boy," I cut him off, flicking a glance down at Rido. I just knew the twerp was recording all of this! "Come back and you can call me anything you like. Won't stop me from returning the favor, mind you. But I'll take it."

He stared at me a long moment, going all serious in a way I didn't like. "If I don't make it back, you and Chewie get out of here. Take what you can and head for the outer rim territories. Chewie knows where to go from there to stay safe."

"Nice to know, but unnecessary," Like hell I was letting him say his good-byes! "You _will_ make it back, Han. That's why I'm loaning you my third most precious possession in this galaxy."

"What's the first two?"

"Come back with Wedge, and I'll tell you."

Then he was gone, following the other Rogues towards the pens and the snow gear stored there. Chewie made a woeful sound and I patted his head, my eyes never leaving the group of guys I was coming to call my new family. Rogue Squadron: my heroes, my friends, and now the only thing that would save Wedge.

"Come back to us, Rogue Squadron," I whispered to myself. "And you, too, Han Solo. We need you. I'm not talking about the rebellion and you know it. _Leia_ and I need you."

Chewie yowled.

"You said it, Chewie," Not caring in that moment what he'd really said. "C'mon, let's go do something constructive. You need to fix this ship and I need to slow you down while you do it. Rido needs to make sarcastic comments while we work. It'll keep us from going crazy waiting and worrying. So giddy-up, fluffy! Let's move."

And in case you were wondering, Chewie didn't bother to duck when walking back up the Falcon's boarding ramp—with me still on his shoulder. I had to do the ducking rather swiftly (with a lot of screeching on my part), skimming the top of my head by millimeters. Was it payback for calling him Fluffy? You'd have to ask Rido about that. If, you know, you could get the little guy to stop rolling on the floor laughing first.

* * *

The "human restraining bolt" as Rido called my tracking anklet, clattered softly to the deck of the Falcon's cargo hold.

"Did you have to use that hot of a torch?" I groused, rubbing at the rising heat blister on my ankle beneath the thick synthleater of my boot.

Rido warbled resentfully at me. I didn't bother trying to figure out what it was. I didn't have that kind of time. My Wookie jailor was currently in the hyperdrive section of the ship, working at the portion of the lift control that was wired there. It wouldn't be long before he'd poke his head back into this hold to check on me. At least this time he'd left some food, water, and a data pad to keep me entertained. Unlike Han, who had said my boredom was just another incentive to not annoy the crap out of him again.

Believe it or not, Chewie was the "softie" out of the pair.

Honestly it wasn't that hard to believe that, after everything that had happened this morning, he was still following Han's orders to lock me up in the Falcon. Life debts were like that. If this was to be Han's final order to him, he was going to see it through to perfection. And if Rido hadn't held the same amount of disdain for Chewie that he had for the rest of the bi-peds lumbering around this base, I wouldn't be leaving this room until we were deep into the Outer Rim, most likely.

Don't kid yourself. Rido wasn't rescuing me out of any love or loyalty. He was doing it because he was bored. Or because he wanted an encore performance of my useless temper tantrum when I realized Chewie was really going to follow Han's orders to the letter. Whatever his reasons, I wasn't about to call him on them. I was getting out of the Falcon for a bit. There was someone I needed to talk to.

Chewie and his OCD life debt thing would just have to deal.

Leia was exactly where I thought I would find her, leaning against one of the Falcon's landing struts. Of course, Chewie was exactly where I _DIDN'T_ want to find him, also working on said landing strut. He did a double take when he saw me skid to a halt, Rido bumping into me from behind and nearly knocking me to the ice. He made with the upset sounds… until he noticed that Chewie was staring at the two of us. Then he whistled once (sounding to me like he said "I'm out!") and headed quickly back up the ramp.

Chewie sighed heavily, shaking his great shaggy head. I wrung my hands helplessly, nodding my head towards Leia. Hoping my face was filled with the right amount of contrite apology and concern for my sister. Whatever was on it, he shook his head again and got back to work. I took that as permission to talk with Leia so long as I didn't leave his immediate area.

I moved up behind Leia, draping an arm lightly across her shoulders, my hand on her shoulder. She was wearing black now, still in that same tight-bodice-tight-leggings-knee-high-boots combo she'd adopted since her Vadering. So different from the no-nonsense simple white she should have been wearing. At least her hair was wound up in that familiar cinnamon bun style she'd pioneered in ANH. Her lips, I noted, were still painted the color of blood, and the jewelry she wore was silver. Thankfully that blasted ruby pendant wasn't around her neck.

She was sporting the black and silver of her daddy's personal colors at the moment, but the look in her chocolate eyes was all her.

"I love him, Rori," she said softly, eyes focused on the mouth of the cave. On the descending darkness unbroken by the six forms we wanted to see most.

"I know," I said, squeezing her shoulders. "He knows it, too."

"Does he?" She snapped softly, the heat flashing in her voice before freezing beneath her worry. "He has a funny way of showing it."

"So do you," I replied honestly, earning a sharp look from her in return. "Well, you could be a little bit nicer to him. Maybe carve a sliver more of time out of your schedule to share? Men are weird creatures, Lei. They can act like they are stronger than durasteel. Many of them are, actually. Until they find that one person they love. Then they're like tissue paper, needing the firm backing of reciprocated love to keep them strong."

Her lips screwed up in an expression somewhere between a scowl and a frown. "I don't have time to fall in love, Rori," she sighed, exasperated.

I snickered at that. I couldn't help it. "You and me both, sister. But that's the funny thing about love. Like Fate, it rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing."

Hah! Thank you, Optimus Prime, for the best line in a Transformer Movie, ever!

That turned her scown (cross between a scowl and a frown) into a lopsided grin of her own. "Sounds like you are speaking from experience."

I thought of Praji, and then of Thrawn. Even with finally being able to tell which memories of them were my own and which were the product of Vader's first attempt at a (bad) romance novel, I still had issues separating the feelings those memories placed inside me. I didn't have enough time with Nahdonnis Praji to call him my one true love. The more time and distance I put between him and me and the events of the Titanic—I mean the Death Star I—the more I realized that I'd inadvertently fallen into the trap Leia had warned me about when we'd first met on the _Tantive IV_.

Somehow, most likely through our one session of happy-fun-time, I'd developed a rapport with the dilhole. He'd been the only one to show an ounce of caring about the real me, that had actually believed me and my 'wild stories' in the end, and I'd locked onto that tiny shred of emotion like a drowning man to a life raft. In the midst of my emotional turmoil after Vader had implanted the Aurora personality into me, the real me had thought of nothing but Praji. He'd been my rock. And that produced all sorts of mixed emotions in me now.

I loved him… and I didn't. It was… well, it was what it was.

But the Thrawn part of that equation... Now that was a tangle of crap if there ever was one. I didn't have any real happy-fun-time with him. All that was courtesy of Vader's wet dreams. But that didn't negate the emotions that years worth of implanted memories created. I felt Aurora's love for that glowing eyed blue skinned menace to the established storyline. The last time we'd spoken before I went to Dagobah, he'd looked troubled. Stressed. And he'd commanded me to come "home" to the Empire where I "belonged."

I didn't belong there anymore than I belonged with the rebels. That didn't stop me from wanting to erase whatever it was that was causing him upset, though. Granted, his showing of stress was little more than a tightness around his eyes. But that showing in him was like someone else having a four-alarm-screaming-psychotic-break. The bottom line was that he needed me—err, the Aurora me at any rate—and that part of me wanted to go back to him.

"Yeah," I said aloud, voice tight. "Yeah, I think I do."

"I'm worried about Luke, too," she murmured, patting my hand. Obviously misinterpreting who I was thinking about, or rather, projecting who she wanted me to be worried about. "He'll be alright. Just like Han will be alright. You said he was going to make it back alive. I believe you. I have faith in your visions, Rori. If you say something is going to happen, then it will."

I swallowed hard, not wanting to tell her that I could be wrong, that my 'vision' involved Luke here on Hoth. That Wedge wasn't supposed to be out there in the cold right now. I couldn't. I think she might have that four-alarm-melt-down if I did, or ride out into the dark trying to save Han. I didn't think that Chewie had enough human restraining bolts to keep both me and Leia locked in the Falcon if that was the case.

"Your Highnesses," Threepio interrupted, somehow exuding an air of human distress. "Artoo has not been able to pick up any signals. Although he feels his range is probably too limited to cause us to give up hope."

Leia's hand squeezed mine, and I found myself squeezing hers back. Faith or no, we both were scared breathless.

"Your Highnesses," Major Derlin interrupted next, his eyes as doleful as Threepio's voice was sad. "All patrols have reported back except Solo and Antilles. Nothing more can be done tonight. The temperature is dropping fast. The shield doors must be closed. I'm sorry."

Derlin had been present at my own melt-down at Rieekan earlier in the day. Come to think of it, he was usually around when I was popping off at the jaw over some stupid thing or other. He stood there waiting, probably expecting me to come swinging at him like a lunatic. Which, in my defense, I had only done once, to someone that really deserved it… mostly. Okay, so maybe I _did_ have a bad reputation around here. Could you blame me? We were on the losing side of a war, trying to survive on an ice cube. It was enough to put anyone constantly on edge!

But for once I just nodded, like Leia did. We did it in unison, believe it or not. And that probably startled the man more than any outburst from me ever could. His eyes filled with true sympathy as he called for the doors to close. And I heard him call next for blankets, a portable heater, something strong and warm to drink for us, and for everyone to leave us alone.

He understood that the three of us—for Chewie had moved up to stand behind us—weren't moving from that spot until we knew something about our loved ones, one way or the other. Inwardly, I made a note to apologize for every time I called him a name. He was a good man.

"The speeders should be ready in the morning," Derlin added quietly. "They'll make the search easier."

"Is there any chance of their surviving until morning?" Leia asked.

"Slim," he said with grim honesty. "But yes, there's a chance."

"Artoo says that Major Derlin is correct," Threepio tried. "The chances for survival are seven hundred twenty-five to one. Actually, I don't think they needed to know that," he snapped back at his counterpart.

But we weren't listening, anyway. We ignored the chairs that were brought, sinking down to the floor only after allowing Chewie to arrange a small nest for us out of the copious amount of blankets random people brought to us. Every half hour, someone new came around to refresh our untouched hot beverages. Chewie had long since gone back to his repair work, honoring Han the best way he could, uttering little yowls of sorrow every so often.

And Leia and I? We sat in our nest, arms around one another, and stared at the giant slab of raw steel that was all that separated us from the unrelieved black of a Hoth night. Not a star in that sky, not a moon to break up the dark, not a fragment of heavenly body to wish upon. Just Leia and I, and the prayers that we hadn't said together since we were children on Alderaan.

We said them now, whispering those words in tandem, and hoping that our love would be enough to light the way home.


	4. Mugs of Nasty

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, messages, favorites and follows! Special shout-outs to **Chocolatam, As Mad As One Can Get, Admiral M, Shadir,** and the lovely **Guest** who did not leave a name. The reviews mean so much as they let me know what I am doing right/wrong. Please leave them. I try to respond to every one of them. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing by my OCs. Mary owns Mary. Everything else is owned by those who own them. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Here's a tip for you: Don't freaking fall asleep on a floor made of icy rock. It's a really stupid thing to do. No matter what your cause, or what point you were trying to prove, just skip over that little part of your display of solidarity and drag your patootie into your own bed. Because after your demonstration is over, after whatever it was that caused you to forget about your physical discomfort is gone, your body is going to let you know how absolutely retarded that decision was. Loudly, and painfully, I might add.

Nobody ever mentioned that fact in movies or books. Being a hero wasn't all about Errol Flynn and swashbuckling and saving the damsel in distress. It was painful and frustrating and annoying and boring and caffeine free. Being a hero meant sleepless nights on icy ground, praying for someone(s) that shouldn't have gone out into a situation to come out of it okay.

I swear, when I get home, I'm writing the Complete Idiot's Guide to Being a Hero: All the Bad Shit They Never Show You in the Movies. Best seller if I ever heard one.

I lay on the make-shift cot next to the bacta tank, staring at the floating half frozen slab of meat that was Wedge Antilles. There was a hot-pack that smelled faintly like melted metal pressed against the small of my back, easing the scrunched up muscles there that were currently calling me all sorts of names for putting them in this position. I ignored them as much as I could, pleased as punch just to be this close to a surviving Wedge. Han expressed his own pleasure in his usual way—leaning in the doorway, freshly showered and changed, a cup of hot something-or-other in his hand.

Given there wasn't so much as a whiff of coffee left on this base (trust me, in a moment of sheer desperation, I had Rido scan every square inch of it under the condition that if he found some, he was allowed to shock the greedy hoarder in question), I had to assume it was that nasty vitamin mix that the med team insisted we drink once a day. Something about it having the right kind of stuff needed to keep our metabolisms from sinking into hibernation due to the cold. Asking them to synth up some java to go with that brew had earned me a lecture on the inappropriate use of scarce materials and yet another trip to the brig.

I glanced over at my own mug o' nasty sitting on the tray next to my bed. It looked like pureed carrots and smelled like a pharmacist. You know, that minerally vitaminy smell that never left drug stores?

"Drink it," Han muttered, his eyes still locked on Wedge's form as the bacta pumped into the tank. "You need it."

"What I need is someone to put me out of my misery," I whined. "My back feels like a herd of banthas performed Swan Lake on it."

"If you stayed on the Falcon like you were supposed to, you wouldn't have this problem."

"If you'd shut up about it, we wouldn't have this argument all the time. Oh, and pardon the freak out of me for spending all night praying for your sorry butt to make it back safely."

He flicked a glance at me, irritated. "You know I don't believe in some all powerful force controlling my destiny."

"I didn't do it for you, jackass," I threw my pillow at him for good measure, watching as it bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. "I did it for Leia. Trust me, I've spent enough time around you to know you don't do that whole 'mystical energy field' crap."

That netted me a smirk, and I felt another bit of pleasure for having cracked the Di Vinci (Solo) Code. Han respected strength, and buckling under his constant irritation would just make him more irritable. Giving back as good as he gave? That was the key to making him calm down. I wondered if the same thing would work on Calrissian… if I ever got to meet him.

Han reached down to pick up my pillow, tucking it under his arm. "You sure you weren't a smuggler in a past life? I've met cantina waitresses on Nar Shadaa with more tact than you."

"Yeah, all us princesses have to take a class in cussing like smugglers. It's a secret requirement before we get our tiaras," I groaned, pressing one hand to my back and holding out the other. "Now gimme back my pillow."

"Not until you apologize."

"For what!"

"You really need an itemized list?"

"You really need me to tell you what you can do with your list?"

"And do the pair of you need me to throw you out of med bay?"

We both jumped at that, Han whipping around in surprise. He managed to look so suave when he did so. The light from the bacta tank cast lovely shadows across his hair and face, making him seem stoic and brooding and everything a girl could want in a hero. I made a move that was partially turning towards our interloper and partially writhing like a wuss from the pain. It looked like I was having a mini-seizure for a moment. I so wasn't hero material.

Leia stood in the doorway, arms crossed at her waist and I closed my eyes, muttering in frustration. She'd slept on the same floor, in the same nest of blankets that smelled like the last time they'd seen a washer was when dirt was young. Apparently her back was just fffiiiiiinnnnneee. She didn't look like she had missed so much as a wink of sleep, while I looked like the aftermath of the Princess and the Pea. Considering I wasn't a real princess, it should be other way around. Why was life so unfair?!

At least she was finally wearing white today. It wasn't the padded vest and loose tunic that it should have been, though. This was a dress that cinched in her waist so narrowly it had to have a corset built into it. The skirts flowed about her ankles, embroidered with thread-of-gold at the hem in a pattern of leaves that I knew as Alderaanian lattice work thanks to my fake memories. The same pattern climbed the tight sleeves and encircled the low square neckline. Dangling golden earrings and matching choker fit the look, made of the same delicate lattice work pattern. Her hair was loose, like warm living satin falling down her back, held back from her face with a bit of golden braid.

So lovely and glamorous and regal and… wrong. The real Leia was _practical_ and regal and lovely. Dammit, I hated this!

She stepped up to the tank, standing next to Han as the red slime called bacta glooped its way around our friend. I could feel the attraction in the air, the need for her to lean into him and for him to wrap his arm around her waist. His need to plant a kiss on her forehead, to somehow soothe away the fear and worry. Yeah, pretty much none of that happened. They stood side by side, an emotional gulf the size of the Rebellion standing between them. The only thing they seemed to have in common now was worry over Wedge.

It was like watching your parents fight while they pretended not to fight in front of you.

"You both suck," I declared, rolling over to face the wall.

"We love you, too," Leia responded, a touch of sarcastic warmth thawing out her tone.

"Finally coming to understand the word 'we,' Princess?" Han griped.

"I know very well what the word means, Captain Solo. I do not need a grammar lesson from you."

"I was referring to the context of you and me."

"After our last conversation, I didn't expect you to think of you and me in any terms."

"Well, the past is the past, I suppose," he rejoined. "Those were some great memories. Too bad they're over."

I heard the dulcet chime of her jewelry as her head shook back and forth, could almost hear the hitch in her breath. "Please stop," she whispered. "I… I can't do this right now, Han. Not until I know that Wedge is going to pull through. I… I can't."

He cursed beneath his breath, and for the second time I nearly convulsed as I tried to turn around to see what I thought I heard happening. Against all odds, his arm was around her waist and she was leaning into him! Bust out the champagne and the Patrón shots, Han and Leia were having a private moment that didn't involve one trying to brain the other with the nearest object!

I lay as still as possible on the bed, not daring to breathe too much. They were like wild deer in the wilderness. The slightest noise would spook them and then—

"I do hope he's all there, if you take my meaning," Threepio, the Winner of this year's Bad Timing Award, shrilly uttered as he shuffled his way into the room. "It would be most unfortunate if Commander Antilles were to develop a short circuit."

Okay, his voice wasn't that bad or that loud, but in that moment it sounded like an airplane full of cymbals crash-landing into a bell factory.

As expected, Leia was the first to jump away. As if being caught in a tender moment with Han was the worst scandal imaginable. Which it wasn't, she was just so focused on being strong for everyone around her that she didn't want even a tiny shred of weakness to show. Out of fear that others would see that weakness and start to lose faith in the Rebellion and in her. Han, of course, took that the exact wrong way. All tenderness was gone from his face when I glanced back up at him. He looked like he did before I'd managed to make him smile somewhat: all pissed off and ready to shoot the first thing to look at him wrong.

"Sledgehammers," I growled, finally beginning to understand Han's intense dislike of droids. "This galaxy has a severe shortage of sledgehammers."

Of course, everyone ignored me.

"The kid ran into something," he growled, staring at Wedge again and sipping at the now cold brew in his cup. It made his face tighten up even more. "And it wasn't just the cold."

"It's those creatures he keeps talking about," she said, just as regal as before. "We've doubled the security. Han, I don't know how to thank—"

"Forget it," he said brusquely. "The kid's my friend. Loyalty is important to me."

Leia opened her mouth, closed it again. Opened it one more time, her hand poised to touch his shoulder… and then dropped that, too. Shaking her head, she crossed over to the Emdee droid on duty. After receiving the news that Wedge had started to respond to the treatments, she flicked one last smile at me, one last mournful look at Han, and left as silently as she had arrived.

My cup of nasty sailed through the air, propelled by my anger and not quite inconsiderable aim. I still may not be able to aim a blaster to save my life, but I could throw things with the best of them now. Aside from being able to fall asleep (re: meditate) in any place and any situation, throwing things accurately was the main skill I'd picked up from time with Yoda on Dagobah. The mug hit its target, splattering Han and the glass of the bacta tank with half-congealed orange goo.

"RORI!"

"What are you, blind?" I seethed. "Seriously, I'm going to stop calling you Stevie Blunder after a move like that! Did you really have to be that much of a dick to her? She was making an effort to mend the rift between you."

He took a step towards me as if he really wanted to take that pillow and smother me with it. "Let me make two things absolutely clear, Princess," he bit out. "Number one, stay out of my personal life. Number two, don't you ever throw anything at me again. If you try either on my ship, I'll toss you out the nearest airlock."

"Then isn't it a great thing I'm not getting on your ship."

"Wrong again, your unholy worship," he countered, trying to cross his arms over his chest, and then realizing his white shirt could now double for an Orange Julius, thought better of it. "We're still blasting off as soon as Wedge is healed. That includes you."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

"You don't."

"Leia and Rieekan won't let you."

He shrugged a shoulder, and the look in his eyes let me know just what he thought about the Rebellion and its rules about coming and going. "How she chooses to waste her time now isn't my business. Regardless of what she says, we're out of here."

I flopped back down on the bed, whimpering anew when my back spasmed in protest. "You're making a huge mistake, Han."

"Wouldn't be my first."

_No, it would be your worst_, I added silently.

* * *

All it took was the Emdee droid telling me that Wedge would be out of the soup in a few hours. I was up and out of that bed as fast as my protesting back would allow. The droid tried to convince me that another hour or two with the bacta poultice would completely reduce the swelling of whatever it was that I had twisted/contorted/strained in my campout near the Falcon. But reality—or this reality I should say—had finally caught up with me.

We were out of time. Now was the moment for me to make like Paul Revere and ride through the base screaming "The Imperials are coming! The Imperials are coming!"

Given the condition of my back, it was more a slow geriatric shuffle than a full fledged dramatic ride. I think the ice was melting faster than I was moving. Don't judge! I was trying to do my best. And wouldn't you know it; the two guards out front of the command section didn't stop me from entering this time. Apparently they didn't believe my bent over and scuttling form was capable of any sort of explosive display of temper. They were right.

Dammit.

"They're coming!" I screeched, causing Rieekan to snarf his mug of nasty all over the display he was studying. Seriously, was no one used to my outbursts? That should have been a given at this stage in the game. He did glare at me as he coughed the last of it out of his nose, though. That at least was normal. "General, you've got to start the evacuation now. The Imperials know we are here, and they are coming!"

"How do you know this?" He asked swiftly, gesturing to one of his aides to bring him a data pad… and a napkin.

Probably a whole new change of clothing, too. Seriously, that brew was nasty business. Oh, and to conduct a full perimeter and sky sweep of the area, no doubt. I had to remember that I wasn't the only threatening thing to rock Rieekan's day today, though by the look he and the poor tech cleaning the nasty off the display were giving me, I was up in the top five.

"I… had a vision, General," I continued, allowing Leia to help me into the nearest empty seat. "Seven Imperial walkers, six star destroyers, and a Vader in a pear tree."

He stared at me blankly, and I sighed again. You would think that _I_ was used to the fact that I now lived in a galaxy devoid of real humor, or stale Christmas carols? Nope. It still surprised me every time.

"Seriously, Riee-miester, get these people out of here. Or Hoth is going to run red with rebel blood."

Rieekan glanced back at his officers, watched each one of them finish their scans and shake their heads in the negative. "We aren't picking up any signals, Your Highness. Are you certain that they know we're here? I do not doubt your abilities," he added quickly, his reverence for the now defunct Jedi Order showing through in his tone. "However, it will take more than just your word to force the evacuation of this base. I need proof."

"General Rieekan is right," Leia added, placing her hand on my shoulder this time. "Tell us something more, something from this vision."

I bit my lower lip, and then brightened immediately. "There are probe droids in this system. One is on this planet right now. Very soon, say around the time it's going to take Wedge to be cleared for duty again, that probe droid is going to locate the main power generator and transmit its location to the _Executor_. After that, it's going to be a mad scramble to get everything and everyone off this ice cube before they become target practice for Admiral Piett's fleet."

Leia and Rieekan exchanged glances. "You mean Admiral Ozzel. Firmus Piett is still a Captain according to our last intelligence report." Rieekan added.

I snorted. I didn't even try to make it ladylike. "They're both idiots. You can put that in your intelligence report as gospel truths. But Ozzel is going to make a play for King of the Moron Brigade shortly before the Fleet reaches Hoth. Lord Hat—err Lord Vader is going to kill him for it and promote Piett right then and there. That's why I'm telling you to get everyone out now. They _will_ blow up the power generator. The planetary shield _will_ fall. And Lord Vader himself _is going_ to come strolling down the halls of this base. It's not a matter of if I'm right. It's a matter of when I'm right. And trust me, I have no problems liberally spreading the I-Told-You-So's over every person in this room that survives if you don't listen to me. Repeatedly and often! That's a fate worse than death, trust me."

Again, Leia and Rieekan exchanged glances. "It wouldn't hurt to put everyone through an emergency evacuation drill," Leia admitted. "According to medical, Wedge should come out of the tank in four hours, with another four spent in the recovery room for final checkups."

Rieekan nodded slowly. "I can see the logic in that. Very well, set the drill to begin in five hours. We need two hours minimum for a complete breakdown, pack up and load. If Princess Aurora is correct, we will have an hour's lead time ahead of the Empire for the transports to get to safety."

"I concur. We have three council members here that agree on this plan," Leia nodded, indicating the three of us. "It's enough to authorize it. I'll inform the rest of the council."

I pushed myself to my feet. This was honestly the best I could hope for, given I really didn't have a shred of proof to backup my claims. And, I had to admit with a sinking feeling, I wasn't really sure that things would play out as they were supposed to in ESB. _Hater_ had told me to go to Hoth. _Thrawn_ had told me to go to Hoth. One plus One equaled a definite attack on this planet, but that didn't tell me who was going to be behind it.

If it was Thrawn calling the shots instead of Piett this time, no amount of warning was going to be enough to save everyone. Or anyone.

What a lovely thought to have as my companion as I shuffled back to med bay.

* * *

"Figures I'd find you slacking on the job," I mock-snapped, grinning like a loon the whole time. "You Correlians are always lying about when there was real work to be done."

Wedge gave a wan smile. He was white as the ice walls, but his large dark eyes were as bright as they ever were. "Says the woman in the bed across from me."

I laughed, leaping up from my bed—thanks to a newly healed back!—and pounced onto his. "Shove over, hot shot. This place has been boring without someone to talk to."

"You should leave him room to rest, Rori," Leia interjected, smiling softly. "The Emdee droid has said his wounds are fully healed, however he needs some time to recover his strength and to drink his brew."

We both made a face at the steaming mug on his bedside table. I shrank back against him, shuddering in horror. "Drinking it fast doesn't make it taste any better."

"Nor does throwing it at someone," Han added, crossing into the room.

Pointedly ignoring Leia, I noted.

"Yeah, about that. Sorry. You know me and my temper."

"Don't I ever," he replied. "Which is why I can't believe I'm giving this back to you. I don't know how you knew I would need it out there, but I did. So thank you."

He tossed—tossed!—my lightsaber back at me. For the second time that morning I shrieked as if my dress was on fire, thankfully catching the thing without igniting it. From the look of horror on Wedge's face (he having witnessed my woefully inept "Jedi training" on Dagobah), he was just as surprised as I that neither of us were cut in half. But it proved that his heart was working properly at least, the monitor sounding off frantically with the rapid galloping of his pulse. So much so that the Emdee droid shuffled in for a moment, appraised the situation, and shuffled out again.

I quickly checked the child-safety-lock on the thing—which it didn't have but that didn't stop me for longing for one—and then attached it to its (wrongful) place on my belt.

"No problem," I breathed, getting my own heart to return to normal rhythms. "Just goes to show you that I'm not always wrong."

"Well, a stopped watch is right twice a day. But that doesn't mean I want one hanging from my wrist," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face Leia. "Well, Your Worship, it looks like you arranged to keep me close by for a while longer."

"I had nothing to do with it," she countered quickly. "General Rieekan thinks it's dangerous for any ships to leave the system for the time being. Besides, the departure crews are busy at the moment."

Han rolled his eyes, smirking. "Yeah, damn convenient that you hold an evacuation drill right when I'm ready to depart."

Leia held his gaze all on her own, not flicking a guilty glance in my direction. I, however, wasn't that controlled in my expression. I was fairly certain that my guilt had taken on a life of its own and was cheerfully tap dancing across the floor like a monkey on crack. Wedge at least noticed it, barely raising an eyebrow in my direction. Thankfully, Han was too wound up in his ongoing feud with Leia to catch it.

"That makes for a good story," he continued, flippantly. "But I think you just can't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight."

"I don't know where you get your delusions, lazer brain."

Wedge's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. "I never saw it before," he whispered to me. "Until now. You two really are sisters. That sounded like one of your lines."

Yeah, I had often wondered what possessed George Lucas to have her say that line. It was the only time in the OT that she came out with a direct juvenile insult. Her jokes were normally subtle digs that had you thinking she'd just complimented you until you walked away and thought about what she'd said. Was this further evidence of Vader's mind tampering to make us sisters, or was my… should my sort of influence have happened at all?

Chewie's outright gaffaw of laughter covered Wedge's statement.

"Laugh it up, fuzz ball," Han retorted, swaggering over to drape an arm around her slender shoulders. "You didn't see us alone in the south passage. She expressed her true feelings for me."

Wedge didn't need my muttered 'oh shit' to get with the program. We both dove beneath his blankets like five year olds hiding from monsters.

"Why… you…" Leia sputtered indignantly. "You, you, you low-down, stuck-up, half-witted, scruffing-looking nerf-herder!"

It didn't so much as phase Han. If anything, he grinned widely. "Who's scruffy looking? I tell ya, sweetheart, I must've hit pretty close to the mark to get you hoppin' like this. Does it look that way to you, Wedge?"

I slapped a hand over Wedge's mouth before he could reply. "Leave us out of this!"

"Well, I guess you don't know everything about women, do you?" Leia said sharply, shrugging off his arm and…

And kissed _me_.

I kid you not, she laid one on me that would have turned me off of men forever if I wasn't already neck deep in a love square with some of the most powerful of them in the galaxy. I was too stunned to respond, my arms braced out behind me. Which wasn't the best idea, either, because it made it look like I was seductively arching my back over Wedge, his hands on my waist with Leia pressed against my chest, kissing me.

High budget porn scenes weren't nearly this hot.

She ended the kiss with a smirk, rubbing a fingertip across her lower lip. Which, just to add insult to injury, she in turn rubbed across Han's lower lip as she strolled regally out of the room. Silence followed in her wake, no one quite sure what to make of that, least of all me. And I was fairly certain I was doing my best Marty McFly impression after his mother had tried to make out with him in Back to the Future!

With everyone sitting around with jaws a-gaping, the one thing I was certain of was that the prerequisite sibling kiss had taken place. Too bad it was the wrong sibling.


	5. Not According to Plan: Part 1

A/N: Extra long chapter this time! Thank you all for the reviews, private messages, favorites and follows. :D I say it all the time but it really does help to keep the creative process flowing. Please don't lynch me when you get to the end of this chapter. I promise that this is only part one of the Hoth battle, and that more interaction with the rebels is forthcoming. This story is far from over. ;) Many thanks to **kittyCaterpillar, A Humble Reader, Shadir, Darktiger09, ****Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Hoplite39, Idle Amusement, MacDii,** and **Nanobot5770** for the lovely reviews! You all rule.

Apologies for taking so long between updates. Battle scenes aren't my forte, and trying to find humor in them is difficult at best. I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Ever had one of those days where everything turns into utter bullshit _before_ you have a chance to interact with it? And when I mean turn into the proverbial bovine feces, I mean literal rivers of it. The only things that were going according to plan were the fact that a) the Imp's had arrived on time, b) Imperial Walkers had been spotted, and c) lots of people were wounded. Speaking of plans, I was willing to lay down good money on the odds that the Imp-dick's plans were working out swimmingly, given that aside from what I'd mentioned, they were NOTHING like what they were supposed to be. Probably because they had coffee—_my_ coffee!

Yes, I was still bitter about that. STFU already.

As if to illustrate that point, the base shuddered again with what had to be impact tremors. Lights flickered, and somewhere down the hall sparks sprayed as an electrical conduit came loose and then had contact with the melty icy walls. Another shudder rocked through the place before things went quiet again. TIE-bombers, most likely. Ever since the attack began, a steady stream of stun grenades had been rained down on us like Mardi Gras beads in New Orleans. Effectively trapping the majority of us inside the base—and thusly under the energy shield—and leaving those poor smucks who drew the short straw for ground duty on the outside.

Making them easier targets to be picked off by TIE-fighters.

Yes, I said it. There were _TIE fighters_ and _TIE bombers_ on **HOTH**, vomiting stun weapons on anything that remotely had a heat signature. This definitely wasn't how crap was supposed to go down in the movies, and that only added up to one thing in my mind—Thrawn.

Thrawn was here, in orbit around Hoth. I could feel it. My only joy in this douchecookie of a situation was that ninety-nine percent of the people here had already evacuated thanks to my throwing a temper tantrum until Rieekan and Leia listened to me. Ol' Brighteyes could suck it.

"Master Jedi!" someone called behind me. "Master Jedi Soresen!"

Oh, that was the other half of the things-turning-into-crap portion of my day. Ever since Leia let it slip that "Jedi Soresen" had predicted the exact moment of the attack, people were slinging that title around like it was a prayer of salvation. So much so that those who weren't scurrying around this place like rats bailing on a sinking ship stopped long enough to execute bows—bows!—in my direction.

After the seventh time I'd jerked someone up to their feet by the shoulders, I'd given up. There wasn't enough time left to correct every joker that I wasn't a real Jedi. Besides, they weren't listening anyway. They were too busy feeling all shades of shiny-happy that a _Jedi _had come to protect them from the evil scary Imperials. Maybe that was why Leia had made her accidental slip. Maybe there was something to giving these people hope in a tangible form they could interact with. Even if I was a big fat phony.

I ground my teeth and my heels into the ice floor, turning to face the officer. "For the last time, Marteen, I'm not a Master Jedi. Stop calling me that."

"Yes, Master Jedi," he said without missing a beat, probably not realizing he'd said it. "Princess Leia wishes to see you in the command center."

"Tell me something I don't know," I bellyached.

Marteen looked positively poleaxed at that, as if I really wanted him to tell me something I didn't already know. "Uh, yes, Master Jedi. The medical facility has reported the men you pulled off the front lines will recover once we have adequate bacta supplies."

Well, that was good news. Of course, that required us all making onto the last transports, dodging enough Star Destroyers to melt the planet, and somehow out-tactic a Grand Admiral. Still, Marteen looked rather pleased that he'd managed to do as I'd asked.

I fought not to pat him on the head and say good job, lil boy scout! "Thanks. Um, keep up the good fight. Dismissed or whatever."

Adding insult to injury was the fact that someone had actually hunted up or made a Jedi cloak in white. The blasted thing was heavy, smelly, and was probably made of the same blankets Leia and I'd huddled in waiting for Han to finish dashing through the snow on a one-dead-taun-taun-sleigh. The only reason I was wearing it was because Han had all my belongings held hostage on the Falcon and all other spare clothing had been sent off with the evacuated peeps. If I wanted my stuff, I had to leave with Han. Thankfully I wore the hairstick and the bracelet today. Don't ask me why I felt that was important to do, I just did. Maybe it was a leftover command from Lorana, or maybe some part of me knew that Thrawn was here, and that when his troops stormed our castle it would do the universe a bit of good if I looked like the grieving captive he wanted me to be. Or maybe I was grasping at straws because I was scared?

You know you would be, too. People dying left and right isn't as nifty as it is in the movies. There wasn't any fake blood made of syrup and grenadine. When people went down, they didn't get back up. And when they were shot with stun beams too powerful for a human to stand, it smelled horrible. Like a combination of fresh hamburger meat and burned bacon. I'd read somewhere that when a body was ripped up inside, its internal organs exploded by sonic blasts, it smelled like raw hamburger meat. It was an image that I had snickered at in the past. I mean, death shouldn't smell like a Big Mac, right? How hysterical would that be?

Now the analogy made me want to cry. I'd spent the majority of my time kneeling over dying men with tears in my eyes, telling them that it was alright to let go, that they were becoming one with the Force. They took comfort in that, that the last remaining "Jedi Master" was sending them off to the afterlife with a kind smile and a thanks for their sacrifice. Man, I felt so low lying to them. Lower than that time I'd gotten into a slap-fight with an eighty-year-old-woman over a pair of Converse during a Black Friday Sale.

Please don't ask who won. My pride can't take another beating right now. All I have to say on the matter is that age is not a factor when vintage Converse is on sale for $29.99.

Rido wasn't helping matters as he tooled around at my side, making his vicious little beep-laughs at each and every bow tossed my way. I could almost hear him thinking 'Damn right, bow to your betters, you rebel scum! Yeah. I kick ass. What, you want some, meatbag? Bring it! I roll with the big dawgs now. Check out my Master, the Jedi Master!'

I rolled my eyes at him. "Careful, Rido," I snapped, starting to run. "Your software is beginning to write checks your hardware can't cash. Cut it out already."

We rounded the corner, skidding to a halt before I face-planted a random crate that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Ah, the chaos of moving day. Only on a massive evacuate-or-die scale. At least I'd found the right place.

"The large transport ships and ninety-five percent of our forces have evacuated to safety, thanks to Jedi Master Soresen's warning," Leia was saying, making me wish I had head-butted that crate after all. "However, the smaller ships still need escort out of the system. I don't need to remind you that there is a planet-wide blockade in orbit around Hoth, most likely with orders to take you alive. Do not believe for a moment that the Imp's will hesitate to kill you if they think you will escape, however. The energy shield can only be opened for a split second, so only two fighter escorts can be allowed per ship. You'll have to stay very close to the transports."

Hobbie, one of my drinking buddies when the other Rogues were on duty, spoke up. "Two fighters against a Star Destroyer?"

"The ion cannon will fire several shots which should destroy any ships in your flight path," Leia answered. "When you clear the energy shield, you will proceed directly to the rendezvous point. Good luck."

The group disbursed like they should have, and I waited until they'd wandered to their ships to catch Leia's eye. I guess our fight had gotten through to her somewhat. She was wearing white like she should have, including that ugly bulky vest thing. Her hair was wound around her head in braids like it was supposed to be, too. The only thing different from what I was seeing now and what was on film was her shirt. It was skin tight and cut low enough to have eyes follow her. Oh, and she was wearing that copper jewelry again, complete with that damned ruby pendant.

"You're back," she said, sparing enough time to smile and embrace me in a warm hug. "How are things on the front line?"

"Cold, deadly, depressing, frightening, cold and cold. Oh, did I mention the cold? Because it's cold out there, in case you missed the memo."

She smirked, and I fell into step beside her, hurrying towards the command center. "Thank you for risking yourself like this. The troops need to see one of us on the front lines to keep morale up. Right now, your face is more effective than mine."

"You mean the presence of my lightsaber is more effective," I countered. "Oh, and ixnay on the edijay astermay, okay? I'm not one of them. I just have visions. I can't heal, can't fight—"

"Can't walk?" Leia supplied helpfully, watching me careen into a passing astromech droid.

Yup, that's what I got for trying to carry on a conversation while in a hurry. Why did this never happen to anyone else the story? Commander Daine Jir practically ran the hundred meter hurtle race over dead bodies on the _Tantive_ during ANH and still managed to carry on a perfectly sensible conversation with Lord Vader. Chewie would run miles through Cloud City in hallways made for humans, holding a blaster also made for humans, and with C-3PO whining up a storm on his back. Did he fall, or trip or skid even once? Nope.

Me? I tried to walk five feet down an empty hallway and I'm nearly shinkicked by an astromech.

And speaking of the droid in question, it sputtered indignant beeps at me until Rido flaunted his ion stunner and beeped back at it. It had the grace to squawk and roll rapidly out of our way. I puffed my bangs out of my face, adjusting my cloak. And slamming a hand down on top of Rido's dome as he attempted to roll after the offending droid.

"Stay!" I barked. "You're glued to my side, Ridolicious, unless you want to be a permanent fixture on this ice cube. Han's not going to wait for you or let you on the ship if you aren't with me, get it?"

He seemed to consider his options for a moment. There was the temporary thrill of dismantling another astromech in a Dexter-like fit of homicidal glee and then spending his eternity talking to ice, or staying at my side with hopes of seeing better carnage in the future. The latter won and he began to keep pace with me again.

"He's not taking you," Leia put in darkly, firmly.

"Who, Rido? He's not taking me anywhere. In fact, I'm pla—"

"I meant Han," she tossed a glare at me, one meant for a certain scruffy-looking nerf-herder. I just happened to be the only one present to glare at. "We need you with the Alliance even more now that everyone knows you are a Jedi—"

"Seriously, I'm not. So stop saying that!"

"It doesn't matter at this point if you are or not. Word has spread. By this time, many in the Alliance outside of Hoth will know that a Jedi Master has risen from our ranks. You're a symbol now. But more than that, word will have spread to Lord Vader soon. He'll be looking for you as strongly as he's looking for me. Maybe even more so."

If Leia noticed my sudden hesitance, she didn't show it as she strode into the command station. "Where are we at, General?"

"The Capital ships are in formation for their escape, Your Highness," Rieekan responded, pointing to a lit-up display board of swirly lines and white dots. "We're awaiting confirmation from ion control that they are ready to proceed."

"Good, and what about our ground forces?"

Rieekan's mouth twisted slightly. "Not as well as we'd hoped. The presence of TIE-fighters and bombers have severely thinned our numbers. If Jedi Soresen is correct, the Imperial walkers will arrive at our gates in a little under an hour. Our ground forces will not stand a chance against them."

"It's just more proof that Thrawn is here," I pipped up.

"We don't know that," Leia replied sharply. "Admiral Ozzel could have easily been the one to send the probe droid here. If it was transmitting as long as you say it was, he would have had time to adapt his TIE's to the cold."

"Point number one," I began, ticking off each point on my fingers. "The TIEs are not only calibrated for cold weather, they are also coming in at atmospheric angles to let their sonic booms do the most damage. Deaf men with shattered ear drums can't take orders, nor can they keep their balance long enough to fire a weapon with any sort of accuracy. Genius, really, if you think about it. What better way to take a target with the least amount of resistance? And the snowbanks make the perfect reflective surfaces for sound waves of that magnitude to bounce around like kids on free-cookie-day."

"Anyway, that was two points actually—the neutralizing of our ground forces and not killing anyone in the process, I mean," I continued. "Point number three, we didn't expect this—at all. Which is a calling card of his. Point number four, its Thrawn. Enough said. Point number five, the bombs those bomber-TIE-thingies are dropping are all sonic and ionic, intended to take as many of us alive with our equipment intact. So that kinda wraps into the points two and three. "

"Point number six, its _Thrawn," _I snapped before Leia could put in a word edgewise. "Point number seven, I told you already that Ozzel is dead. Point number eight, Piett's just as much a trigger-happy-numbnuts as Ozzel. The last thing he'd want to do was take any of us alive, nevertheless all of us. And he wouldn't resort to the least use of technology to do it. He'd want some sort of testosterone-filled, dick-waving, kind of display to show he's Da Man. Personally, I think he's just overcompensating for something, if you know what I mean. Point number nine, hello please pick up the white courtesy phone, it's the truth calling to tell you ITS _THRAWN!_ Point number ten, if all else fails, see points number four, six, and nine."

I got a room full of dumbfounded faces staring at me when I was done. Even Rieekan glanced at Leia, as if searching for a Mary-to-Basic translation. Or as he would see it, an Aurora-to-Basic translation. What was I going to have to do to make them all get it, find m and write "CLUE" across it, then whack them with it every time they did something stupid? There'd be a lot of unconscious rebels in here when Vader finally made his appearance, I'll admit that much.

Leia pressed her lips together until they were nearly white. "She's right. Her logic is sound. There isn't any other explanation as to why things are swinging so far out of our favor. General, is this attack plan like anything we've experienced from either Ozzel or Piett?"

"No," he admitted, shaking his head slowly. "And if there is a Grand Admiral out there calling the targets, it's likely that most of our ships were captured instead of escaping."

No one liked that news, and even with the amount of heads that swiveled in my direction, hoping against hope that I'd spout out news of a vision that we all made it out of this alive, I had nothing to tell them. Nothing but the truth. And I just couldn't let things go down this way. Not without a fight.

Son of a bitch. I was going to be brave, wasn't I? I was going to have to own this Jedi thing thrust onto my shoulders.

I bounced to my feet with a bravado I didn't feel. "Okay, so it's Thrawn out there. Big effing deal. Ya'll figured out a two-meter wide target on a station the size of a moon and then blew it out of the sky with one volley of proton torpedoes. I feel safe in saying you've faced worse than this and won. We _think_ he's got most of our people. But we don't _know_ that. So let's work with what we know. The remaining foot soldiers have sonic compensators now, so the TIEs are pretty much putting on a pretty light show from here on out. We've still got birds in the air about to engage some of those walkers. Plus, we still have our evacuation code to transmit. So let's get these people out of here. Why are you all standing around staring at me? Move it, folks!"

To my utter shock, people leapt into motion. Like someone had taken their finger of the galactic pause button.

Leia smirked at me. "And you claim you are no Jedi, Rori. I don't think I could have inspired people to move like that, given the dire straits of our situation."

"Well, then you're going to love this. I'm going back out on the front lines."

That smirk faded. "Rori, I think that would be a mistake."

"Wouldn't be my first," I said, stealing Han's line.

Here's to hoping it wouldn't be _my_ worst_._

* * *

Oh yeah, this was a huge mistake. Not like wearing white after labor-day kind of big mistake, nor like an oops, I'm twenty-bucks short in the cash drawer kind of mistake. This was somewhere in the realm of "hey, let's take that shortcut through the ally in Queens" kind of mistake. For all you non-New Yorkers out there, just say that it's bad.

It was bad enough that Rido had willingly gone into the Falcon rather than head off with me into the great white nothing. Last time I checked on my comlink, he'd powered himself off. Probably expecting another energy spike to knock him out when the Imperials arrived. Still, it saved me the trouble of digging him out of snow drifts this time around. I had enough to worry about. Like, say, the six Imperial walkers plodding towards us.

"Jedi Soresen!" screamed Lieutenant … err… Guy? Seriously, they all wore the same uniform, same snow jacket, and same face wrap and goggles. No way to tell the difference. "We have walkers incoming in sector twelve."

"Six of them, right?" I leaped down into the snow trench they'd cut for defensive purposes.

"Yes, Master Jedi!"

"Number one, just call me M—Rori. Saying those other two words just take too much time. Secondly, why the hell are you hiding in a trench made of snow when it's proven that those laser canons on the walkers can vaporize metal? Seriously, what stupid genius designed this plan? What are you going to do, challenge General Veers to a snowball fight and pray he agrees? You know what, nevermind. Do me a favor and get everyone out of here. This is stupid."

Lieutenant Guy looked crestfallen. "Is there no way we can save the base?"

I fought not to smack him with the unlit lightsaber in my hand. I was willing to bet he was a young farmboy beneath his facewrap, some idealistic fool that thought the rebellion was a way to glory and honor and all that junk. But I was out here to be an inspiration, not a demotivation. So I checked my temper and my sarcasm at the proverbial door.

Heh. Master Yoda would be so proud.

"No," I said with a tired sigh. "Hoth will fall, sugar. The only thing we can do is get our people out as fast as possible. The speeders are more effective than—oh what the freak are they doing now?!"

LG and I stared in muted horror as one of the walkers went down, its legs tangled in the tow-cables from Rouge Squadron. I had a split second to wonder who had given the order to do that what with Luke still sucking down swamp water on Dagobah. Then I remembered that Wedge was up there. He was smart enough to figure out just as quickly as Luke that the blasters were ineffective against walker armor. So was Vil and Laurent and Morvane and Dack—

Wait, wasn't Dack Raltor supposed to die here? Smashed flatter than roadkill under the foot of an imperial walker? And speaking of dumb ways to die, I snapped back into attention in time to watch a veritable forest of idiots on parade. A whole squad and a half was now booking it across the snow towards the downed walker, as if they were going to be able to crack it open like a piñata. What kind of idiots were they?! OMG, I had just finished explaining that LASER CANNONS on SNOW SPEEDERS couldn't crack the shine in the armor of these things, and this batch of idiots thought a few hand blasters could do the job?

Well, if they managed to crack that thing open, it wasn't candy that was going to come spilling out of it, that was for damn sure. This was a classic example of why I was an Imperial fangirl. To quote Dark Helmet, evil will always win because good is dumb. If any of those idiots survived, I was signing them up for the Darwin Awards.

I grabbed LG by the collar and swung him around. "Give the evacuation code," I screeched into his face. "And get those morons off the battlefield! Now!"

"Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" I said, climbing up the lip of the snow fort, wrapping my white cloak around me tightly. "I'm a freaking Jedi, right? I'm going to go do some of that hero shit. Now do your own hero shit and GET THESE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!"

I barely had time to clear the lip of the fort when I felt someone scrambling up beside me. True to idiot form, it was LG. "Didn't I give you an order, LG?"

"Yes, I passed it along the chain. I can't let you go alone."

"Did you miss the Jedi part of that sentence?" I said, waving my saber in front of his eyes. Not ignited, thankfully.

"Even Jedi need help," he replied. "The name's Damien Mercado, Rori. Sergeant in the Alliance army. Honored to be of assistance."

I snorted. "Don't say that until you see what I have planned, LG. Question, do you have a harpoon gun?"

"Yes, Master—Rori. And I said my name was—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Do I look like I have time to remember everyone's name? Right now you're LG until this mission is over. And how about a few frag grenades? You got those?"

"Not on me, but I can get some. And my name is Damien Mercado."

Whatever. His name was going to be dead moron in a minute if he was sincere about following me. Then again, I was probably going to be just as dead. But somebody had to play the role of Luke out here, someone with a lightsaber that could cut through walker hulls. Someone with a great aim thanks to her own training on Dagobah, who could lob grenades like they were grapefruit.

Namely, me.

I waited impatiently as LG scrambled back into the (not)safety of the snow fort, coming back a few moments later with a sack of stuff.

"Here," he said, handing me two grenades and a harpoon gun. "This was all I could get."

"It'll be enough," I said, clipping the gun to my belt and dropping the grenades into the hidden pockets inside my robe.

"What's the plan?"

"You see those morons out there running towards the downed walker?"

"Yes, Ma—Rori."

"We're going to join them, only we aren't running to the downed walker. We're running to the upright ones."

He blinked behind his goggles, looking like an owl with down syndrome. "Didn't you just say—"

"I know what I said," I snapped. "And I don't like this anymore than you do. But the fact is our speeders are going to run out of cables, the Imp-dicks are going to blast the shield generators, and the only thing that can get through that armor is this—"

I brandished my lightsaber, then realized I was holding it upside down. I quickly made the correction, and brandished it anew. It didn't help inspire Damien to new heights of courage like I'd hoped. I think it did the opposite. He looked at me as if I had just lost my damn mind. Hard to believe, but I missed that look. Being an idiot was so much easier than being a hero!

"We're going out there," he said, pointing a finger at the same group I'd indicated. "With only four grenades, two harpoon guns, and a lightsaber as our gear."

"Yup," I said brightly. "The plan is to get under those things, harpoon our way up, and toss a grenade into the belly of the beast. Then drop ourselves to the snow and pray we aren't shot down before, during or after the mission. Any questions? You know what, we don't have time for questions. Either you're in this with me, or I'll find someone else who knows how to use this stuff without killing us both."

"I-I'm in," he stuttered out, his eyes filling with resignation. "Tell me what to do."

"Run like hell, LG. Run like hell."

We did.

* * *

It's amazing how many people would blindly follow a Jedi just because they said they were a Jedi. It made me wonder how many people went to gory deaths in this galaxy at the hands of psychopathic serial killers dressed up as Jedi. I mean, how hard would it be to fake a lightsaber hilt and hang it from your belt? I had to assume not too difficult. Given that most of this galaxy was so starved for Jedi presence that they'd just about believe in anything.

Like me.

Man, I was so going to get lynched when the rebellion figured out the truth. Lynched AND burned at the stake—on a planet without wood or fire.

And speaking of believing anything, you would think sneaking up on something the size of a lifting crane would be easy. Nope, far from it. Especially when said lifting crane had sensors and junk that could spot a fruit fly in a snow storm from fifty miles away, and then stick a blaster bolt up its ass with perfect precision. The Empire did not dick around with its military budget, let me tell you. It went for the full monty, the best of the best that money could buy. And when money didn't work, they had other means to secure what they wanted.

I was gaining a firsthand account of what those other means could do.

The rest of the morons from the hey-I-think-I-can-do-something squad had finally caught up with the downed walker. When it exploded outward, spilling all sorts of snowtroopers and stormtroopers and every other kind of white-armored trooper, I looked away. Stun bolts were flying in all directions, those troopers cutting down the rebels like they were yesterday's fashion statement. In the blink of an eye, any remaining morons were high-tailing it back to the (not)protection of the snow fort, only to be downed before they made it more than twelve steps.

Oh yeah, Thrawn had to be in charge. Especially when the troopers broke themselves into several different squads, some pressing forward towards the base while others were on clean-up duty, securing prisoners and preparing them for collection. Through the smoke and wind and snow flurries, I saw several prison shuttles landing in the safety zone behind the walkers.

There was no way for us to reach the unconscious men, and we both knew it. LG and I dipped, dived, ducked, dodged, and weaved our way through the wreckage of speeders and the bodies of the dead. He never lost his nerve—or his footing—and for a wonder neither did I.

In the end, we were pinned down behind a smoking pile of garbage that had been a rebel speeder. Between the dead-on aim of the gunners in the walkers and the dead-on aim (seriously, these guys really COULD and DID hit what they aimed for) of the troopers on the ground, we had to wait for the walkers to reach us. Every time we poked our heads out from cover, we nearly ended up taking a stun nap. After having been stunned twice already thanks to Butch Admiral and the Sundance Syndic, I wasn't on board with a third performance, thanks. Those things sucked.

Thankfully, we didn't have a long wait.

I was never going to forget the sound of hydraulics whining, nor the crunch of snow flattening beneath that giant metal foot. It was like hearing a thousand snow cone machines working at once, only your heart wasn't beating so hard in your chest it was about to win the gold for long-distance running when waiting for a snow cone. LG's breath puffed out as rapidly as mine, our forms huddled together behind the wreckage like five year olds hiding beneath a blanket, hoping the scary monster under the bed couldn't find them.

Waiting for the mechanical T-Rex to stomp close enough for us to catch a ride. Note to self: I was never going to be able to watch Jurassic Park again, not after feeling real impact tremors of something large enough to terrorize Toyko. Sign me up for PTSD. I had a raging case of it now.

I held my breath, counting out the seconds it took in the film for Luke to run beneath the thing from behind.

"NOW!"

LG didn't hesitate. He was up and running with me, maybe a bit ahead of me if I was to be honest. Our guns went off at the same time, and—wonder of all wonders!—I didn't fumble mine while trying to attach it to my belt. A flick of the trigger had us going up, up, and away! We hung together for a moment as he got the grenade ready and I located the hatch on the underside of the walker. Yup, it was right where Luke had found it in the movie. I'd watched ESB so many times that I'd estimated correctly where we needed to be.

Sometimes being an uber fangirl had its advantages.

I palmed my lightsaber, preparing to cut my way into the walker—

And froze as the hatch popped open on its own. A white-armored hand reached forward, gripping my shoulder so hard I thought I heard bone snap. Another hand reached out, grasping my lightsaber hand and hauling me forward. The snapping sound I heard was my harpoon-gun-cord-thing being cut with a vibroblade.

"NO!" I screamed. "You can't do this! It's not bloody fair!"

My cloak was ripped off my struggling form, binders clinked around my wrists, and I was shoved down on my ass on the cold metal floor. A moment later, LG was seated next to me. They'd taken his goggles and facewrap, so I finally got a good look at him. Yup, he was a whiny farmboy. Couldn't be more than twenty, with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. I felt like ass for dragging him into this.

So when I peered up at the smugly smiling face of one General Maximilian Veers, there wasn't the usual fangirl squee. I took a page from Leia's book and glared hatred at him, since I couldn't glare into the face of my maybe-future-blue-skinned-husband. Maybe.

"Lord Vader was correct," said Veers, examining my lightsaber. "He insisted that someone would attempt to cut through the bottom of the walkers, someone bearing a Jedi's weapon. Thusly I added sensors to the underside, calibrated for humanoid weights. I am glad that I did."

I closed my eyes, banging my cuffed hands to my face repeatedly. I should have thought about this, about Vader knowing everything that I knew. I'd been so focused on the prospects of Thrawn running this battle that I'd forgotten about that. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Please tell me it's Thrawn up there," I dead-panned, glaring at him again. "Make my day and tell me I didn't fall for a ruse within a ruse, Maxi."

He pursed his lips, looking like he didn't enjoy the nickname. Well screw him. I didn't enjoy being kidnapped for the… uh… shit, I'd lost count by this time. Seemed to be every Imperial's new bloody hobby. Today Veers got the gold star for nailing me. Yippy.

Veers eyed me carefully, passing my lightsaber back to the trooper next to him. "You are her, aren't you? Princess Aurora Soresen of Alderaan, I presume?"

"Uh… nope. Sorry. Wrong girl. I get it all the time. It's the hair. But no harm, no foul. If you just let us off at the next corner, we'll call it a wash..."

His smile grew. Unfortunately so did the dark amusement in his eyes. "That statement more than confirms your identity, my lady. Welcome back to the Empire."

"I'm not your lady, pal_." I'm not ____I'm not your friend__, ____buddy__! I'm not your buddy, guy! He's not your guy, friend! ____I'm not your friend__, ____buddy._ "Not that I don't have the utmost respect for you, but this really isn't the place to get into my fangirl worship. Seriously, answer the question. Is that Thrawn up there? If you value your career, you'll answer."

He considered me again before he shrugged slightly. "There is no harm in answering that question, my lady," he replied, extending a hand out to me. "Admiral Pellaeon is in command. I trust that is explanation enough."

Son of an effing… "He's not supposed to be an Admiral right now," I let him drag me to my feet. "He's only a Commander. How in the blue bloody blazes—"

"I will be more than happy to answer your questions after I have achieved my objective, my lady," he said, tugging me a few steps away from LG. "Have the boy taken to the holding cells. Her Highness will join us in the front of the walker. There is someone that wishes to speak with you, Princess."

"If he's tall, blue, and wearing the latest fashions from Imperial Center, I'll take a pass," I said, watching with fear as LG was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. "You aren't going to hurt him, right? Maxi, don't hurt him."

His smile took on a brittle quality. Yeah, he definitely didn't like that nickname. I wonder what he'd think of the names I'd given to other Imp-dick's I'd met. Compared to that, Maxi was tame . He should be counting his blessing.

"I have my orders, my lady," he said stiffly. "All rebels were to be captured alive."

That made me freeze. Past tense, as in 'were?' As in, not anymore? "What do you mean, were?"

Veers hand on my arm tightened, and I was pulled more than escorted to the cramped cockpit of the walker. "Admiral Thrawn and Lord Vader expressed concern that two targets in particular were not to come to harm. Now that we have one in custody…"

One of the troopers seated at the driving console glanced up at Veers. "Incoming message, General."

"I said if that was Lord Asshat, I wasn't—"

The tiny little hologram screen blossomed to life, and the image therein stole every bit of protest from me.

"My lady," Veers cut me off, executing as much of a formal bow as the cramped confines would allow towards the image. "We are honored by your call."

"Thank you, General," Leia answered. "Tell me you have her in custody."

"We do, Lady Vader. We do indeed. Bring her ladyship so that Lady Vader may examine her sister."

I was shoved forward, so much so that I was certain Leia got a nice holographic view of nothing but my outraged face. "Bitch!" I shrieked. "You aren't supposed to do this! You can't betray them all! Can't you see that this is wrong? It's all wrong! What the hell is w—"

Veers sighed, yanking me back. I didn't have time to get my feet beneath me, nevertheless see the incoming nightmare of silvery material aimed at my face. It fit over my mouth like an unwelcomed friend, familiar and annoying all at once.

"Please be aware, my lady, that the power generators will come into range momentarily," Veers continued. "Are you prepared to evacuate to safety before the target is destroyed?"

"Yes, General. Please continue as planned."

Veers touched something on the holo, and the image of Darth Darling was replaced with the terror-inducing image of Darth Vader. "Lord Vader, we will have the shield down in moments. You may start your landing."

I watched as the last line of defense against the Empire exploded in all sorts of shiny electrical sparks.


	6. Not According to Plan: Part 2

A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews, favorites, follows, and private messages! I'm so glad you liked the last chapter. I was really worried about it. :D Here is the part two I promised. And a big thank you to** May, BfheadGamer, Chocolatam, Shadir, MacDii, Nanobot5770, Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo, KittyCaterpillar, Hoplite39**, and **Guest **in particular for the wonderful reviews.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

I thought being stunned with an E-11 blaster rifle was the worst thing ever to happen to me. Then Dilhole Praji introduced me to the sheer craptacular joy of being gagged, starved for days, and tortured. But this? This situation right here? This took the taco. Being gagged and then shoved/wedged into a tiny corner of a cramped cockpit, my entire form doing the fetal upright thing with General Veers acting like the living fourth wall of my prison, blew being stunned and drugged right out of the water.

At least when I was stunned, I could do something useful like sleep. Catching up on sleep was always a good thing. Especially when you never knew when your next eight hours counting sheep would come again.

I kept my cuffed hands tucked between my chest and my knees. After the last time I'd attempted to do anything with them, I'd learned better. Veers, much like the Imperial military budget, didn't dick around in terms of getting what he wanted. And right now what he very much wanted was for me to sit still and let him do his job. I cradled one hand in the other, fingers smarting like the dickens from where he'd stepped on them—hard. On purpose! Granted, I was trying to inch my way towards the vibrokife I knew he kept tucked into his leftmost boot. But really, stepping on my hand? How'd that turn into something a reasonable person would do?! Especially to the sort-of-maybe-ish daughter of his Imperial lord?

Apparently being a high profile prisoner did not grant me any leeway with him.

I was just lucky that nothing was broken. Somehow I got the feeling that wasn't entire on purpose. From the look he was giving me right now, I'd imagine that he'd stepped with intent to harm. If something got broken along the way, well, that was further impetus not to do something foolish like try to escape, now wasn't it.

Heh. He didn't know me very well, did he? I wasn't the brightest bulb on the Rebellion Christmas Tree. I was going to try again. And again. And again.

Come to think of it, maybe that was why he was staring at me. Did I really have that large of a tell? Was he reading my body language and I was all tense to leap or something without realizing it? Though honestly, how I could do anything from a sort-of-upright-fetal-position was beyond me. He was giving me too much credit. Not that I would tell him that.

"Wmmm alm gmming tm dmm, ymm rmmlizm tmmt, rmmmt?"

That's gag-ese for _We're all going to die, you realize that, right_?

Veers narrowed his eyes slightly. As if asking me to clarify that statement. I managed to glare at him, pointing—very so slowly so as to not make any sudden moves—at the gag. A bit of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, and he glanced at the control board, then at the window. And then leaned forward to do… well… whatever it was that you did to drive one of these things. For all I knew, he could be checking his Spacebook account and playing Farmville 2000 or something. Couldn't see anything from my vantage point on the floor, save for some rather nicely shaped calves surrounded by Imperial jackboots.

Hey, hot was hot. And Veers was definitely wasn't hard on the eyes. If he wasn't so devoted to his dead wife, he could have more than his fair share of the girls. But devoted he was, and he probably wouldn't appreciate being oogled by some ditzy fangirl, either. Eyes forward!

Unfortunately, when my eyes went forward, they continued to travel up and up and up… into Maxi's eyes. Oh goodie, he'd finished giving whatever order he had in mind to kill a bunch more of my friends. Too bad being gorgeous didn't translate into being good and kind. More times than not, it translated directly into levels of dick-titude.

"Admiral Pellaeon is sending a shuttle for you, Your Highness." He began, and if he'd noticed my semi-sexual-harassment-worthy appraisal of his physical condition, he didn't show it. "Once the perimeter is secure, we will see you safely back into Imperial hands."

I pointed at the gag again, lifting both eyebrows this time. And this time, his smile deepened.

"That will remain in place, if you will forgive me. You have already proven yourself to be… distracting… at crucial moments. I shall let the Admiral decide when that shall be removed."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Smmmmlm, wmmm amm GMMM TM DMM!" _Seriously, we are all GOING TO DIE! _

I even made with the shadow puppets, miming a big explosion. Which was what was going to happen relatively soon now! A snow speeder, completely out of control, was about to slam into this cockpit. It was going to kill everyone, save for Veers. Who had had the foresight to leap out of the way. But he'd paid for that with having both legs crushed so badly that even bacta couldn't save them. He'd ended up an amputee for the rest of his days, trying to run his command via a wheelchair.

It had worked for people like Professor X. But for people like Veers? Ehhh… being a cold ruthless General kinda lost you the sympathy vote the chair gave you in the first place.

Veers started to turn away, and I couldn't take it anymore. I had gone through too much already to die because some gorgeous arrogant prick decided things were well in hand. Things weren't well in hand. Things were NEVER well in hand. And I was just about to prove it to him.

He turned back to his screen, watching the rebels in white running across the snow. His blasters were working full-throttle now, so it wasn't blue stun beams they were firing. They were red and hot and burning and deadly. Like they should have been in the movies. Well, that was about all I was going to let follow the approved Lucas-verse timeline for those of us out there in the cold. I screwed up as much of my energy as I could and kicked out with my feet.

He wasn't expecting that. He slammed into the console at his side, going all off-balance. That was enough time for me to do what I did best—run like a bitch! See my previous comment about the difference between the hero and the comic relief! I threw myself into the hallway, trying to get my feet under me. Veers was quicker, though, and his arm lanced out, caught me around the waist. My momentum drug us both forward, tumbling in a roll down the tiny hallway.

It was the only thing that saved our lives.

A second later, we felt the impact of the doomed speeder.

Thank the stars Veers had paid attention in combat 101. He was able to use our momentum to steer us into something of proper cover before the sparks, heat, and flames roared down the hall. We were wedged into a pocket that held some kind of locker or storage or something, with Veers pressing me down to the deck. Unfortunately, he had his vibroknife in hand, the blade so close to the skin of my throat I could feel the sonic waves.

There was fury in his eyes as he hauled us to our feet. So it made things twice as awkward when I looped my cuffed hands around his neck and pulled him in all the closer. Because my back was to a length of coiled cable conduit stuff in that locker area, and if he didn't use it to secure us to this cubbyhole, we were about to die as this walker fell over on its side. Worse, we were about to explode when another rebel speeder flew by and took advantage of the downed walker.

I stared so hard into Veers eyes, screaming behind my gag. Begging him to understand what was about to happen.

Did I mention before that the man was smart, like genius level smart? About the time I'd started screaming, his eyes dawned with realization. The blade vanished from my neck, appeared behind my back. Cable snapped clean in two without effort, and a length of that cut cable slipped around my waist and his, tying us together. Which in turn tied us to the cubby-locker thing.

Incredibly, all this took place in under thirty seconds. I had just enough time to burry my face into his neck and felt him bow his head over mine, his helmet providing a helluva lot more protection for us both that way.

And then I was screaming again as gravity shifted and the walker tumbled sideways into the snow.

* * *

I was dreaming.

It had to be a dream, for nothing could feel as wonderful as this moment. I was curled up in my apartment back home, sandwiched between a Star Wars fleece blanket and a blow-up mattress. Deidra, my roommate, was cuddled up next to me. So the tiny space heater we were able to afford could shed its maximum warmth on us both. It wasn't much, truth be told, but it was enough. Definitely enough when added to the three blankets covering us, and the fact that we were drinking hot cocoa—not that instant crap but real milk boiled on a stove and melted chocolate with just a hint of cinnamon added until we had the flavor we loved.

Oh, and we were wearing our Star Wars footie pajamas. Yes, they make those in adult sizes. Don't give me that look! You try staying warm when your building was older than the American Civil War (mostly) and a blizzard was currently making its cheerful way down 5th Avenue just in time for the Christmas sales.

And on the screen of our single television was Empire Strikes Back. Our favorite of the Original Trilogy.

"I love this part," Dei whispered.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "This? It's the snow fight with the Imperial Walkers."

"Yes, I know. I love it."

"Why? Aren't you the Rebel Fangirl? Last time I checked, your side was on the wrong end of the beat-down."

"Yes," she agreed cheerfully, sipping her cocoa. "But you're forgetting the most important thing."

"That being?"

"Your side looses Veers. That's like losing a knight on the chessboard and capturing a pawn instead."

"Yeah, but we take your Bishop later with Han takes a carbonite bath."

"True," she grinned, and I flicked out a finger to wipe the whipped cream from her nose. "But that's not until later. Besides, we get Han back in the next movie. You get a wheelchair and a failing military career. Oh, and then you get defeated by a bunch of teddy bears."

"Hah! Teddy bears that capture YOUR side with a piece of dead meat and a woven net. And almost turn them into Sunday afternoon barbeque, too."

"Yup," she continued in that cheerful way… the way that let me know she was about to drop The Argument Winner. Inwardly I groaned. "But need I remind you that 'an entire legion' of the Emperor's best troops were defeated by dead trees and rocks?"

I opened my mouth, closed it. Opened it again, and then sulked. "At least my side doesn't have a whinny farmboy."

I knew better than to argue with Dei. She was a trained Paralegal after all, complete with four-year degree. She knew how to hit hard in debates. Besides, it really _had_ sucked giant goat balls when whatever author decided to publish the news that Veers lost both legs at the battle of Hoth. I was still furious about it. My side loses General Tagge, probably one of the most honorable Imperials ever when the Death Star blew, then we lose another honorable man because the Emperor's a dick and decides he can't have any imperfections in his army. Thank goodness I'd changed that crap right away… hadn't I?

Dei laughed. "Hadn't you what?"

"Huh?"

"You just said that you'd changed that crap right away. What changes did you make?"

"Dude, did you suddenly go blind? I just shoved Veers out of the way. Look."

I pointed at the screen, at the image of me and Veers all roped together, as the walker toppled onto its side. Sparks flew as we swung like a pendulum, both banging repeatedly into the sides of the cubby. The entire world tilted worse than any scene from the Poisdeon Adventure movie. I watched with dull horror as a spark landed on my hair, burning portions of it to ash. Metal flew around us, cutting Veers as much as it cut me.

In a word, it sucked. And I clutched to my side in sympathy for myself on the screen. I could almost feel the rope burn across my back and shoulders from that cable, could literally feel a twinge in my side when the security locker door busted off its hinge when the headless horsema—I mean headless walker finally hit the snow. That door took me full-on in the left side, steeling breath and near consciousness from me. I shivered, feeling suddenly cold. Feeling more so as Veers popped a hatch on the walker from somewhere, dragging the screen-me out of the walker by my cuffed hands and trying to run through the snow.

"See!" I pointed wildly at the screen with the hand that wasn't clutching my aching side. "I told you I changed things. My side doesn't gain a gimp. We keep our knight."

Dei's smile faded, and honest to goodness tears started to fall down her cheeks and plop into her mug. "I see. I guess that means we'll never see each other again, will we?"

My triumphant smile faded, too. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you are, Mary. I miss you here on Earth. Things haven't been the same since you vanished."

I shivered again beneath the blankets, turning to Old Hottie and smacking him upside his R2D2 decal case. "Why is it so cold in here? Why isn't this thing working?"

"It's okay, Mary. I understand if you want to stay."

"Stay? Of course I want to stay! I want to be here more than you can imagine!"

"No, you don't. You want to stay there, and I… understand."

The shivering was getting worse, the cold seeming like it was coming from everywhere. Even the cocoa in my mug was frozen, more like a fudge-cycle. I glanced fearfully around the apartment. It shouldn't be this cold in here, not with the windows latched properly. Even with the snow pounding at it as if it were hail stones, those windows should have kept the cold at bay. What on earth was going on?!

"NO!" I clattered out through chattering teething, my breath frosting in the air. "I w-want to c-come h-h-home!"

"Then stop fighting," Dei said softly, wrapping her arms around my shivering body. "Stop fighting and just embrace the cold."

"If I d-d-do that, I'll d-d-die!"

"If you don't, you'll never get home."

"Dei, how could y-y-you know this-s-s?! You can't know this! I d-d-don't even know this!"

I felt her lips brush my cheek. "Then goodbye, Mary. I can't say that I like Aurora, but I understand why you want to be her, now. I'll miss you so much. But I want you to be happy."

"NO! DEI! COME WITH ME!"

But the snow was everywhere, the windows shattering and the flurries blinding me. I was so cold that I was numb to it, my legs refusing to move. My arms frozen to my sides. And through those shattered windows, I saw nothing but open plains of snow. Gone was my beloved New York skyline, the dirty alley that should have been beneath my window that smelled like garbage even in the depths of winter. Instead, all I could I smell was the stench of burning flesh and oily smoke. Black clouds of the stuff billowed into the sky from countless explosions on both sides of the conflict. And impact tremor shook the ground as walkers came into view.

I glanced back at Dei, screaming for her to run. She sat on our mattress, untouched by the snow and cold, staring at me with the saddest eyes I had ever seen. And when I tried to scream for her again, my mouth wouldn't move, my words muffled behind frozen lips. I was helpless as the cold stole my ability to feel, to move, to think, to see…

* * *

I opened my eyes to the most exquisitely numbing pain I had ever experienced. All that I had seen in that last moment of my dream was playing out before my eyes. Except for the part where I was laying in the snow, shivering uncontrollably, when I should have been sitting on a mattress sipping cocoa… while shivering uncontrollably. Blasted wreckage was all around me, and I guess it had to be the remains of that walker we'd been in. Oh, and it was all so unearthly quiet, save for the rushing sound of wind in my ears.

I lifted trembling hands to the side of my face, fingers coming back sticky with blood. My eardrums, I thought dully. When the walker exploded, the shockwaves must have done for my ears. But my wrists were still bound, and probing with my fingers found that the gag was still in place. And around my waist was that length of black cording… only it was suspiciously Veers-free. More to the point, it was currently tethered to a heavy bit of walker and tangled about my legs so I couldn't even stand.

But Veers was standing. Shakily I might add, the amount of red staining the tatters of his olive drab uniform letting me know he'd taken the brunt of the explosion. He'd need weeks in bacta to recover from all those wounds, but he hadn't lost his legs. General Veers would live to fight another day.

So why wasn't I so happy about that?

The answer, of course, was visible to the eye. All around me, what was left of the Hoth base was nothing more than black smoke and burned bodies.

I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but my arms wouldn't let me. They were numb, completely numb, as was the majority of my body. I was dying, just as Dei had said in my dream. I had to wonder, if I had chosen to stay with her as she'd suggested, if I would still be in New York for what was left of my fleeting lifespan, drinking cocoa with Dei and laughing and watching Star Wars movies. We'd fall asleep together on that mattress like always, huddled together for warmth. And I just wouldn't wake up again.

Would that have been so bad?

Veers shambled forward, looking like an extra in The Walking Dead. Half his helmet was missing, the side of his face exposed to the elements all red and raw and covered with frozen blood and burned flesh. One arm hung at an odd angle, dislocated from the shoulder if I had to hazard a guess. One leg did the obligatory zombie drag, obviously broken or dislocated somewhere, too. But if he felt any of it, it didn't show as he sank down to his knees before me.

He took something from his pocket, something that looked like one of Uli's injector guns, and put the thing to use against my exposed hip. That part of my clothes had been burned away in some sort of fire. I had to wonder if that happened when the rebel speeder hit us, or when the walker exploded.

I still had no idea HOW we'd survived that, by the way. But there were other, more immediate concerns.

Like the fact that the rushing sound of air was receding, replaced with the real unfiltered sounds. Some feeling returned to my body… and I tested my new eardrums with a gagged shriek of my own. Oh, stars I hurt. It was near unbearable, that pain. And the worst part was that my entire body wasn't fully thawed yet. Whatever he'd given me (bacta most likely)had healed the most severe injuries, but left the rest free to tell me how much it sucked to be second fiddle.

Veers used his good hand to cradle my head as the first wave of pain made its presence known. I understood why he left the gag in place now. The cuffs, too. It kept me from reaching for the wounded parts of myself, making things worse by moving too much. He knelt in the snow, impassive as a statue, until I could get myself nominally back under control.

Then he removed the gag.

"Why?"

I blinked at the two of them, or rather the double image that pain created of the two of them in my field of vision.

"What?"

"Why did you save me?" He leaned in, eyes fixed on mine so intently that I couldn't tell if he was perplexed or pleased or angry. "You knew what was going to happen."

I closed my eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I knew."

"Why did you save me?"

"Because you're Maxillian Veers," I said flatly. "You're probably one of the most honorable men to ever put on that uniform. Life dealt you a shitty hand, my friend, but you continue to do what is right. I couldn't let you die."

He gave my head a shake, nothing too hard, but enough to keep me from drifting off again. "How did you know?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Your Highness, if we don't die here due to exposure, I do have the authority to drag you before a Moff council and demand my answers. It will be most unpleasant for you."

I couldn't help but smirk at that. First at the idea that we were going to survive this. I mean, how lucky could we be? We'd already survived a flaming kamikaze Rebel, then the tumble of the Walker, and then the EXPLOSION of the walker. I think Lady Fate was about to figure out that she'd left her Good Luck program running and was about to reboot .exe. That kind of good fortune had to be a universal virus or something. It just didn't happen.

Secondly, there were far too many people above Moff status that had ordered me to keep silent. I had a freaking royal flush in my poker hand. His bluff wasn't going to work.

"I'll see your Council of Moffs and raise you a Dark Jedi, a High Lord, a Grand Admiral, and Lord Vader," I responded, not caring for once that he probably had no idea what I was talking about. Poker here was so different from that back home. "Trust me, Maxi, you don't want any part of this. Please, take the gift I've given you and go back to your duties. Don't waste it trying to get involved with me."

Again, he made with the unreadable uber-intense expression. "I owe you a debt now."

Oh lord, not again. This had Nova Stihl written all over it. I did NOT need another honor-bound dude following me around and having his destiny twisted way out of proportion! Why couldn't people just say 'Thank you, Mary. I think I'll take that advice and go on living my normal life like I should" and move the fuck on?! Why did they always have to investigate things that would ultimately lead to bad things for them?

"Don't even start," I snapped, cracking open one eye. "I just got rid of the last guy that owed me a debt. You want to pay me back, fine. Cut me loose and go back to serving the Empire."

"You serve the Empire, too," He said, as if explaining something to himself. "If you truly possess the connections you claim, give me a clearance code and I'll do as you state."

Son of a… if I gave him that code, he'd let me go. Then Thrawn and Vader would have a field day with him when he reported this incident to his superiors. If I didn't give him the code, I was going to be hauled off to Admiral Pellaeon just like Thrawn wanted, leaving Vader ready to eat my face for leaving his daughter alone.

Huh. Come to think of it, hadn't Thrawn promised to send a ship to collect me over Dagobah? Was that why Pellaeon was running this battle instead of him? Was Thrawn, even now, in orbit around Dagobah waiting for me, and I just happened to fly the coop before he could arrive? Were Luke and Nova now his prisoners? Shit, if any of that was even remotely accurate, the best thing I could do was give that code to Maxi, and then cash in that debt he offered by allowing him to escort me to Pellaeon.

_If_ any of that was true. That was a really big IF.

I stared up at Veers, watching him inject himself with the same injection thingie to keep alive. And knew I had to make a decision quickly.

Or I would have, if the most unlikely of heroes hadn't appeared in that moment. I had half a second to hear the whining of repulsorlifts and glance skyward. My ship, the _Runaway Princess,_ loomed out of the smoke and wreckage, hovering as threateningly as it could just above us. Lasers were armed and aimed, and across the comlink clipped to my collar came a series of snickeringly dark binary beeps.

Rido was here. And boy was that little droid pissed.


	7. One Decision Finally Made

A/N: I want to thank you again for reviewing, favoring, following, and sending the private messages! The love for this story is awesome, and I really thank you for hanging in with me. :) Special thanks to **BfheadGamer** (twice LOL!),** Shadir, May, As mad as one can get, Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Hoplite39, Equoise, KittyCaterpillar, Chocolatam, Nanobot5770,** and **MacDii **for the lovely reviews. I sincerely hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

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I'd like to say that I remembered all of what happened next. I'd also like to say that my head didn't feel like someone had shoved it in a vice and then forced me to watch the entire Partridge Family series while they cranked that badboy down. But that wasn't happening.

Truth was, I was in more pain than I'd ever been before. You would think exposure to sub-zero temperatures would numb everything out and I wouldn't feel the pain. While that was true to some extent, it was the 'thawing' part that hurt almost as much as the freeing. It was all I could focus on as hands lifted me onto a stretcher and carted me into my ship. Well, that and some incoherent babbling at the owner of said hands to not leave Veers to his death. Lord only knew when the next Imperial shuttle would land, and he could die from his wounds at any moment.

Besides, there was a certain bit of sadistic satisfaction in making him _my_ prisoner for once. Call it a side effect of having been kidnapped so many times by every Tom, Dick, and Imp that strolled across my field of vision. Call it 'bully reversal' or 'learned behavior' or any of that psychobabble. Call it whatever you liked to make you feel better, and I'll call it what it was to me: pure, beautiful, sweet vengeance.

Oh, and a touch of job satisfaction, too. I mean, really, I didn't go through all that crap to let him die in the snow.

There were a lot of other things I remembered, too, but they were vague impressions and faint sensory inputs. Like a half-remembered nightmare of being swallowed by a giant Aunt Jemima syrup bottle, my hands tied to either side of her glassy interior so I pretty much floated in her red syrupy blood. No amount of trashing could free my arms, nor my rather pathetic pleading at how ironic the situation was. Ironic because we normally ate _her _gooeyinsides on waffles and pancakes. I think I laughed at that, finding dark satisfaction in my mother's predictions coming to life. She'd always said that putting too much syrup on my pancakes would be the death of me. She was referring to diabetes then, but I had a feeling that wherever she was, she was laughing herself silly that she'd been right.

Figures it would be some sort of eighty-foot monster that shouldn't exist that punched my ticket for the final time.

But then something sweet-smelling was pumped into the mask on my face (don't ask me how it got there. I was too busy snickering at death-by-sugar), and I no longer cared if I was eaten by a beloved icon of my childhood.

Next was the very surreal sensation of Aunt Jemima popping off her own head and reaching down her neck to pluck me from her insides. Only to shake me gently until all the red stuff came off my body, and then wrap me in something soft that smelled faintly antiseptic. There was a part of me that was aware that I'd just received my first soak in a bacta tank, and subsequently went through the little sonic shower thingy at the end of the tube to remove any remaining red sludgy bacta from my limbs.

Apparently my jacked-up brain liked to be creative with my surroundings. Hence, the Aunt Jemima dream. It made me wonder if the dream about Dei had been just that—a dream. My brain's way of comforting me through the largest shock my body had gone through to date. Though I had to wonder what part of me was comforted by being swallowed alive by a large glass woman.

I decided to blame that on Vader. Everything wrong with my brain was now officially his fault. That made me feel better, and I was able to drift off into dreamless sleep for a bit.

The next thing I remembered was… well… right now, actually. Cracking open my eyes in the tiny little med-bay of the _Runaway Princess_. Coming eye-to-scanner with my black-and-red mechanical best friend.

"Heyya, Rido," I said softly, cracking a grin. "Thanks for the rescue."

Rido let out a series of beeps that, if I didn't know the twerp any better, I would have said sounded like relieved cursing. You know, the OMG-thank-fuck-you're-alright-you-had-me-so-worrie d-so-never-do-that-shit-_AGAIN_ stream of rhetoric that your mother threw at you when the police escorted you to the front door in the middle of the night. Well, minus the f-bomb for most of you. My mommy was very colorful gal for being a white chick. She didn't normally sound like an extra in Real Housewives of the 'Hood, but when I did things that she deemed over the top stupid (like, say, sneaking out alone to watch the midnight premiere of Independence Day when I was thirteen?), she really let loose with her inner demons.

Sorta like Rido was doing right now. I'd never been bitched out in binary before. It was amusing to say the least.

Upon realizing I was nonplused by his explosive show of angry love, Rido extended that probe of his to give me the bird. That was followed up next by a series of low-noted, ear-bleeding bloops and bleeps that reminded me just how much of a jackass the dude could be as he rolled away. My grin widened. Man, it was great to be back with the people I loved most.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position on the bunk, my arms and legs protesting as loudly as Rido, who was still bitching at anything that came across his path. Doors, walls, computer parts, the very air... All was fair game as far as he was concerned. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to be up and moving yet and my muscles let me know how much of a bad idea this was. That was pretty much on track for me, since I was known for doing things I wasn't supposed to be doing.

And to add to my enjoyment of waking up alive, the next bed over revealed that I hadn't been dreaming about my first abduction (as the _abductor_, not the _abducted_). Maximilian Veers slumbered like the prisoner he was, hands cuffed to either side of the bunk with binders, feet similarly shackled at the ankles. His face was completely healed, his hair grown back as thick and lush as it had been. Bacta, man, I tell you! It's the stuff of miracles. No wonder there weren't any reported cases of cancer or something like that in the Star Wars Universe. Just slap some bacta on that tumor and presto!

The areas of his skin that had been burned were freshly pink as a new born baby's bottom. He'd carry a scar on his forehead now, from where whatever it was had smashed into his helmet and cleaved the thing in two. It started just above his left temple and ran diagonally across his forehead until it touched the beginning of that eyebrow over his nose. It would be hair-fine, that scar, barely noticeable when he wore his uniform cap. Not that he didn't look damn good in the simple light blue scrub-like tunic and pants he was currently wearing, mind you. But Veers was Veers, and he just looked odd without his uniform.

But he was alive. Uncrushed. Whole. Or he would be when all his treatments were finished. From the looks of the chart glowing above his bunk, he was going to need some serious surgeries once we got to a place with a real hospital. But again, he was stable and alive. And had both legs. That was worth smiling about.

Oh, and did I mention the fact that he was my prisoner?_ MY_ prisoner. Cue the happy dance! Darth Cupcake finally scored one for the home team.

I couldn't help it when I reached out a hand, placing it gently on his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered, his expression going tense, and the scanners around him beeped before a soft hiss of air echoed in the room. His face went lack once more, his consciousness slipping back to whatever it was he dreamed (hopefully not giant glass syrup bottles!). Another glance at the chart showed he'd been administered a round of sedatives. Either for the pain, or to keep him docile, I had no idea. If it was the former, I was going to feel shitty that I'd almost woken him. That pain sucked. If it was the latter, I was going to go put the beatdown on whomever it was that had rescued us.

No matter what side of this war I was on (sometimes even I wasn't sure anymore), I knew for a cold hard fact that I WASN'T that kind of kidnapper. I wasn't going to keep Veers in a drug-happy-nirvana to keep him all calm and listless.

Just no. That bus wasn't going to find a station in my brain. I'd let him go before then. Not that I was planning to keep him that long, anyway. Just until I found a slice of planet in some Imp-controlled sector where I could drop him off safely and then get away. Tall order, that. But I was willing to do what it took to see Veers survive. He was worth the risk.

I leaned down, trying very hard not to realize that this was _exactly_ how shit had started with Nova. "You're safe, Max," I whispered into his ear. "No one is going to hurt you. You just concentrate on getting well, and I'll concentrate on getting you back to your side of this war. I promise."

His eyes moved behind his lids, faintly, but it was enough to let me know that he'd heard me. And thankfully there wasn't a hissing sound that meant the system was pumping him full of more drugs. At this point the poor man probably had more sedatives than blood in his veins.

Yeah, someone was about to catch a really nasty case of myfootuphisassitus for this. So not down with adding Master Torturer to my ever growing list of craptastic titles. It was bad enough that I was now Princess Master Jedi Aurora of Alderaan. Or was that Master Jedi Princess Aurora? Either way, I sounded like a five year old wrapped up in mommy's fluffy pink robe with a tin-foil crown on her head and waving a flashlight "lightsaber" around like I knew what I was doing.

Check that. At least the five-year-old got some enjoyment out of playing pretend. I haven't been hit in the head enough yet to actually find the fun in my wannabe titles.

But speaking of humor (and lack thereof), I wasn't going to be threatening to hit anyone in what I was wearing. Paper thin blue medical tunics and pants, much like the ones that graced the dearly sleeping Maxi, was less threatening than pink bathrobes. And less warm, too. I reached up and pulled a blanket from the cabinet above his bunk, draping it carefully over Max's sleeping form. Some of the little bars on his chart thing moved at that, and I'd like to think it signaled relief. I knew I was as cold as could be, so I could imagine this was about the same for him.

At least the cold let me know that we were still on Hoth. Even the depths of space wouldn't be this cold, at least not inside the ship. There was a metric crap ton of seals and programs that ensured that the iciness of space wouldn't enter the cabin while we were star trekkin' it about the galaxy. Systems that didn't engage when we were planetside with a breathable atmosphere. Hah, take that, Wedge! I _did_ pay attention to some of those navigation lessons you gave me.

Mostly. Partly.

Oh shut up. You'd think learning to fly a spaceship wouldn't be as boring as taking your driver's rules test for the first time. You'd be dead wrong.

One last squeeze of Maxi's shoulder and I made my stiff and achy way towards my cabin. If we were still on Ice Cube Central, that meant Maxi and I couldn't have soaked in the syrup that long. If I remembered events correctly, after surviving that walker crash I also saw a smoking crater where Echo Base had been. And if the _Runaway Princess_ was still planetside, that meant the Imperial planetary blockade was still in orbit. Which in turn meant the 'Falcon was still here. Leia wasn't going to leave without me. I'd gathered that much from her Traitorship's conversation with Veers before he and I took the Worst Splash Mountain Ride Ever to the snowy ground.

And if Pellaeon was sent to look for me, too, he wasn't leaving until he found me. No one wanted to be the nitwit that had to tell Ol' Brighteyes that his darling had vanished with the rebels yet again.

That made me smirk, made me try to move faster towards my quarters. I had some clothing left there, I think. Most of it was from the wardrobe that Lorana had made for me on the Death Star, most of which I'd sold as fast as possible. Fancy dresses did not survival gear make, as Master Yoda would have said. Good solid tunics and pants and boots had been my favorite outfit on Hoth—

I sighed when I opened the closet. Yup, you guessed it. Nothing but fancy dresses, the ones that Leia wouldn't let me sell. I'd forgotten that I'd stuffed them all here to make space in my tiny closet in my Hoth room. I stared at the silks and velvets and the… err… whatever other materials that made up precious fabrics in this galaxy. None of it was functional unless I was planning to dance the night away.

I couldn't help the way my hand reached out, fingertips brushing the sleeve of the emerald ballgown, the one with the slender skirt and the long bustled train behind it. Thrawn had bought it for me, said that he enjoyed the way the color highlighted the natural tan of my skin. Or rather, he'd bought it for Aurora in one of those fake memories. I could tell the difference now between what was real and what was fake, but that didn't stop the emotions that I had developed to go along with those memories. I could still smell the faint hints of the flowers in that garden, could almost taste the wine on his lips.

My hand strayed from that gown to the scarlet one slashed with gold, the one Thrass had given Aurora on their one year anniversary together. The cost of the gold thread alone that held that gown together was more than most Regional Governors made in a decade. She'd loved it, and he'd loved that she'd loved it.

And I hated that I knew that. Hated even more that Thrass and Thrawn had no corresponding memories to go along with mine, so they'd have no idea what these gowns now meant to me. Scratch that, they knew about the memories thanks to Lorana crawling through my head and spewing out facts like freaking parrot. But knowing something and feeling something? Two different things entirely.

I was so going to punch all three of them.

I yanked the simplest gown that I had from its hangar, tossing it on quickly. Its skirt barely brushed the top of my feet, and the good stout shoes I threw on guaranteed that I wouldn't fall on my face while wearing it. I would just be mocked by every solider and rebel I came across is all. Seriously, who wears a full skirted blue silk gown with puffed sleeves to a battle? The elaborate silver scrollwork on the bodice alone was going to shine like a beacon to anyone with half a brain and a searchlight!

Correction to the punching plan: I was going to sock Lorana first. If I had even an inkling of where she was, I would call her stuck-up butt right now and—

My eyes flicked of their own accord to the comm. unit, the unblocked memories of Aurora floating to the surface. Holy crap, why hadn't I thought of this before? I knew everything Aurora knew, and that included all those personal comm. codes. It didn't matter where Darth Plain-and-Tall was in the universe, I could contact her. And it dawned on me that I knew Thrass's as well. _And _Thrawn's. I could call them anytime I liked, thanks to Lorana's little dalliance through my head and leaving her—literal—calling card stamped across my grey matter.

A portion of my brained screamed these codes were only to be used in emergencies. Well, this was an emergency in my book. The best, and last, emergency I would ever have regarding that trio!

I flounced over to the chair (seriously, there's little more you can do in a dress like this than flounce. I was fairly certain Queen Elizabeth I would have looked at it and said "Damn, child, even I'm not that ostentatious!"), and for once let my fingers travel over the keys without breaking into a cold sweat or mind-numbing pain. Ah, the wonderful freedom of possessing a brain unblocked with Force commands.

It didn't take long for her Mind-Rapeyness to answer her comm. And sweet, sweet cosmic justice, she was all sleep-tousled and bleary-eyed, her hair mussed up in a way that only good marathon sessions of hot sex could provide. Her eyes widened in absolute shock at my appearance.

I smiled.

Waved.

Blew her a kiss.

"Morning, Sunshine!" I shouted loudly, not even ashamed an ounce to watch her wince at the volume.

I even cackled a bit when I heard someone jerk on the sheets next to her. Oh, goodie, Lord Jackhole was there! It looked like the Karmic Lottery was just dumping its glorious winnings all over my lap today. First Veers as my prisoner and now this? Revenge was _so_ much better than Christmas!

"Aurora," She began, annoyance wiping the sleep from her eyes. "I demand to know what you think you are… Ah, I see. Good morning, Mary. I am relieved that you survived. We were worried over your safety."

I smiled again at her suddenly reasonable and slightly wary tone. Even more so at how she said she was worried about my 'safety' rather than 'me' personally. "Yeah, I could really see that you were losing sleep over it, my friend."

She stiffened, apparently realizing that I was free from her mental commands—and that I knew all about those commands now. "I will not explain my actions."

"Then you just saved yourself a lot of wasted breath, doll. I'm not looking for explanations. I'm here to tell you and your hubby and your bro-in-law to go screw. I'm done with the lot of you."

More shuffling took place on the bed, and I gathered from the way Plain-and-Tall had the sheet wrapped around her like a toga, that had to be Thrass scrambling for a robe.

"Mary, I don't think you want to do that right now—"

"You know, I'm a little tired of you all telling me what I should or shouldn't be doing 'right now.'"

"You jeopardize our plan."

"Yours."

"Excuse me?"

"Yours," I said again, making a show of studying my nails. Man, what I wouldn't have given in that moment to have a nail file. You know, to give that whole 1950's classy kiss-off message of 'my manicure is more important than your whole life.'

"I don't understand."

"Oh, then I'll cheerfully explain it to you. It was your plan all along. I wasn't part of it. You just made me feel like I was, going so far as to rearrange my mind while you pretended sip tea and to be my friend. That was low, Lorana. Seriously low. I really wanted to connect with you on some level. I really liked you. Too bad."

A blue-skinned hand appeared on her unadorned shoulder, easing her out of view. Thrass's image replaced hers, the look in his glowing red eyes not exactly pleasant. My heart skipped a beat at that, a painful pang for him surfacing from Aurora's memories. He'd hurt her when he'd dumped her for Lorana. Even though she'd known all along it was coming. They'd been better friends than lovers, or rather better benefactor/ward than anything else. Still, she'd loved the jackhole on some level.

"You have been missing for quite some time. Three months to be exact. We had almost given you up for dead," He began, his voice dangerously quiet. "I trust you have an explanation for this?"

"For this call? Absolutely! I have several, in fact. First being that you're fired."

He lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean, fired?"

Oh, it was too easy. I couldn't resist. "Yuppers," I said in my best Emperor Kuzco voice. "How else can I say it? You're being let go. Your department's being downsized. You're part of an outplacement program. We're going in a different direction and we're not picking up your option... Take your pick. I've got more."

His eyes narrowed slightly, his face going completely blank. Letting me know I'd really ticked him off with that. "Amusing, Aurora. Now that you've wasted a significant chunk of my time with your antics, please go on with the reason for your call. Or was this rather juvenile attempt to escape your duties the true reason?"

"Uh, did you not get the point, sugar? I don't work for you anymore. You blew it, or rather she did," I nodded to Lorana, who was watching over his shoulder. "Seriously, if you wanted my help, you should have played it straight with me. Instead you threw more pain into my life with implanted orders and conversations I couldn't remember. I'm a person, you jackass, not a slave or a robot to command."

"Those were placed for your protection, Aurora."

"My name is Mary."

"No, it isn't. Not anymore."

"Oh stop with the psycho-babble. You've lost, Thrass. Have the grace to admit it and move the fuck on. No one likes a sore loser."

Real fire started to burn in those eyes, so much so that I nearly lost my nerve. Nearly. "We will finish this discussion in person, Aurora. When will you rejoin the Fleet?"

"Somewhere in the range of never and don't hold your breath. That work for you? Oh, and the name is Mary. Say it with me now. M A R Y."

His lip twitched, and not in the fun smile sort of way. Lorana's hand appeared on his shoulder this time, and he actually closed his eyes, as if taking a deep calming breath.

"Listen to me, Mary," she tried, eyes filling with a show of concern that I almost believed. If, you know, she wasn't a mind-raping liar. "We have not deceived you to be malicious. There were things we could not tell you because of your connection to Lord Vader. Do not make an enemy here."

"Too late on that account. I think your husband is going to have a stroke if he keeps repressing his anger like that. I never knew someone with blue skin could flush so red."

Lorana winced, and when she opened her eyes again, she had the anger burning in their sepia depths. "Take your shots all you like, Mary Vasquez, but take them at me. This was my doing, not his."

"I'll give you brownie points for trying to defend your husband's honor. That was pretty nice of you. But, you see, we have this problem called I don't believe a word you say anymore. We've had this discussion, remember? About how Thrawn and Thrass couldn't trust me because I'd lied to them before. Well, shoe's on the other foot now."

She ground her teeth. "I have no idea what that means. If this is another bit of whining over these… what were they called… Conservative shoes—"

"They're CONVERSE! And yes, I'm still pissed about that. But that's not what I'm pissed about right now. Well, not completely, because honestly, you can't stop being pissed about losing something so pretty and wonderful and—"

I blinked, realizing that she'd somehow done it. She'd muted me! Not with some triggered mental command, thank the stars, but with a literal flick of her gaze—to the electronic controls in front of her! How rude. It wasn't like I swooped in and destroyed her favorite outfit and shoes and then played Simon Says with her mind!

I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at her. Especially at the way Thrass seemed to have recovered his good humor. The jackhole was the one smiling at me now, and I was the one doing the glaring. I hated how he was able to do that, to always turn the tables on me. It just wasn't fair.

A moment later, sound returned from their side of the connection. "I trust you are through?" he asked pleasantly.

"Not by half," I growled.

"Then I invite you to finish this conversation in person. So much is lost in holo conferences."

"I'd rather have a root canal, thanks."

Lorana shook her head again. "I still don't know what you are talking about. Shoes? Roots?"

I ran a hand over my face, trying very hard not to scream. "Don't worry, doll. I'm used to that by now. Look, we're getting away from the point—"

Thrass raised that stupid eyebrow once more. "This call had a point?"

I took a page from Rido and gave him the bird. "Yes! Now stop interrupting me, dammit. This whole call boils down to two points. Point number one: get it through your ridiculously thick heads that I'm not falling for it anymore. I'm breaking up with you guys. This thing between us is through."

"And what shall I tell Thrawn?" Lorana interjected. "He went through a lot of trouble to ensure you had your chance to reach Dagobah. He's still contending with Lord Vader over that. You owe him your life."

"I don't owe anyone shit," I countered. "I'm sick of you all trying to convince me that I do. I've done everything you've asked and still you did this to me? I'm righteously angry that _you_ betrayed _me_! You of all people knew how much it hurt to be brain wonkied until I nearly lost my own identity. You felt it all in my head! And STILL you did it to me again! No offense, sister, but fuck right off. Anything I owed his Most High Annoying was paid off by what you did to me."

I leaned forward, nearly pressing my face to the screen. "And after all that, I still can't believe I am loyal to the freaking Empire! You want to know how I know _that_?" I hissed. "Because I nearly died saving General Veers from his own death, that's why!"

"You what?" Lorana was on her feet. "Mary, you must come to us immediately for medical treatment. The rebellion isn't equipped with the facilities that we—"

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I have no plans on letting Max die."

They blinked in unison, going so far as exchanging looks. "You mean he is with you now?"

"Uh, yeah. He's my prisoner. But unlike you guys, I don't drug, torment, brain-scramble, or hurt my prisoners. In fact, that was the second point of my call. I need to arrange a drop off location so Maxi can get that real care that you were talking about."

Unbelievably, a thoughtful look passed over Thrass's face. Oh, he was still angry enough to chew deck plating. But most of that was concealed by the curious way he peered at me. As if he could search my face through the comm. screen for whatever it was he was looking for. So much so that I backed away from the screen. Like you automatically do when there's a King Cobra on the TV screen. Just that unconscious flight reflex that happens when your brain recognizes something powerful enough to snuff your ass in a blink.

Man, how did I suddenly loose the upper hand here? Internet courage, don't fail me now!

"You captured one of the Empire's greatest Generals," he said simply, still staring at me.

"Yeah, I said it didn't I? Unlike you guys, I don't lie… mostly. Without good reason, I should say. And there's no good reason to lie about this right now."

"You captured him by yourself?"

I shifted a bit. "Well, an astromech droid helped somewhat."

"I was under the impression that General Veers was in command of an AT-AT during that conflict."

Conflict… what a lovely term to describe the abduction and murder of several hundred people I called friends. "Yeah, he was," I crossed my arms over my chest. "And so was I. How do you think I knew to warn him about the crash?"

"Crash?"

Shit. Shouldn't have said that. "Yeah, I knew a crash was coming that could have killed him. No, it WOULD have killed him. I stopped it. But not for you and your merry little band of jerkfaces. I did it for Max. Because he's worthy of respect, and he didn't deserve to die that way. Not that we almost didn't when the walker exploded—"

Thrass held up a hand, and amazingly, I shut up. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, the first real emotion I'd ever seen in him outside of anger. This… this was real concern, real worry… for me? "It… what? I need you to start at the beginning, please. Leave nothing out."

He actually settled into a chair, as if I was giving him a debriefing while he had his morning coffee. And so help me, I opened my mouth to answer before I caught myself. The perfect amount of concern he put into both tone and expression, had me wanting to blab my whole life story at him. No, had me wanting to _believe_ he cared. No wonder he was a master at politics. I bet senators and royalty of all types just prattled on in his presence, thinking him their new best friend.

Hypnotized like people used to think King Cobras could do. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. Remembering nights sitting on the arm of his chair like Lorana was doing now, talking on and on about my day while he listened with that exact expression on his face. Aurora's memories, but damn if they didn't make me feel safe. Made me want to tell him everything.

"No," I whispered, looking away.

"Aurora, look at me."

"No."

He sighed. "You have every right to be angry, but not to lose your life so foolishly by being blinded by it. Come to us for medical care. I guarantee the rebellion does not have the resources we do, and they could not have treated everything that happened to you if you were, indeed, in an explosion. At least give us the chance to explain why things must be the way they are. More is at stake here than I can safely explain via the comm."

"No. I'm done with you."

"I don't believe you."

Said so easily, so simply. And so damn truthfully. "Just tell me where to drop off Veers," I sighed, still not looking at him. "He needs that medical aid."

"So do you."

I shrugged a shoulder. "I've had worse."

"I highly doubt that. I can see the pink of newly healed skin on your neck, Mary. The way your hair is significantly shorter than it was. Come home where you belong. We'll tend to your needs."

That did it. Worst possible thing to say, and for once it wasn't the comment about my hair. Though shorter? Really? Max's hair had grown back like it should have. I didn't even give a thought to mine after witnessing that. I needed a mirror, pronto. But first I needed to finish this conversation.

What was I saying… oh, right. It was the wrong thing for him to say, that whole business of coming home to the Empire where I 'belonged.' Especially after Dei had said that in my dream. I looked him in the eye finally, not ashamed of that tear that ran down my face.

"I don't have a home. Or have you forgotten? Now shut the hell up and tell me where to meet you, or I'll drop Veers somewhere behind Imperial lines and take my chances with him surviving it."

His lips compressed in a thin line. "Very well. I will not banter with you on this when you are obviously wounded. Threnody is transmitting the coordinates as we speak, along with some instructions for your safety. Though I highly recommend that you turn yourself over to Admiral Pellaeon. He'll see you safely back home—"

"I. don't. have. a. home. What, do you need me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes. you. do," he shot back. "You belong here, with me. With Threnody. And yes, with Thrawn. Do I need to spell that out for you?"

I glanced down at the board, saw the red light notification of incoming data. "I'll be in touch."

I disconnected the call, cutting Thrass off in whatever he was about to say. No doubt by now he was transmitting the whole conversation to Thrawn. I winced at that. He was going to make my life hell—not that he hadn't already—over this. And yet I just couldn't bring myself to care. Something else was bothering me now, something that stole all the happy-happy-joy-joy out of my victory in saving Maxi.

It'd unnerved me, that comment about belonging with him. It was the first time he'd said "With" and not "to" him. All the Aurora memories said that I did. But all the Dei memories, all the real Mary memories, said that I didn't. But I could, if I chose to. I could completely and sincerely belong in this galaxy. For the first time since arriving on the _Tantive IV_, my destiny was truly in my own hands. And I had no freaking idea what to do with it.

* * *

I looked like a young River Song.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the 'fresher station, and just… well… stared. White-blond curls cascaded in frothy waves down to my shoulders, all frizzy at the ends and uneven in places. I supposed that's what happened when a spark of plasma flame tried to take on a new profession as barber. It was a harsher look for me, one I never would have attempted at home, but with the curls, it didn't look too bad. Well, it wouldn't once I got a decent shape to it. Then again, at home my hair was stick-straight and without body.

Vader must have done something more to me when he'd Princessed me than just have my hair styled. This looked genetic of all things. As if I had been born with all that luscious curl.

I tried not to think about that, or what else he could have changed in my genetic structure. Or worse, what else he might be changing in his _own_ genetic structure. That vision on Dagobah had hinted to as much. Was I really walking around as one of Vader's experiments? The test run before he figured out how to permanently eject himself from his suit?

I shivered a lot. First, for the very thought of that. Secondly, because if he was doing experiments, I needed to tell the Trio of Terror about it. Which would put me right back into their plans.

Crap. Double, triple freaking crap. I had a lot to think about and quickly. And the best place to do that was—you guessed it!—at the navigation seat.

"Master Jedi, I'm pleased to see you up and fully functional."

I slanted a glare at Dack Raltor as I walked into the cockpit. "Blow me, flyboy. You know damn well who I am."

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning ear to ear as he stood up from the pilot's seat, wrapping me in a tight hug. "You scared the life out of us, Rori. When your comlink signal vanished, we thought the worst."

"Vanished?" Huh. Veers must have jammed the thing when LG and I were taken up into the walker. "If it vanished, how did you find me?"

"Rido," he sank back into the pilot's seat. "That droid about turned himself inside out when the main computer lost your signal. He was set to take my X-wing into the air all by himself until I stopped him. We honestly thought that was the end of it until he somehow slipped his restraining bolt. The next thing we knew, the _'Princess_ was powered up and nearly into the air. I was lucky that I had some of the original security codes that Nova installed. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise the best droid in the world would have run off with my ship," I couldn't help but smile. Someone was getting a super awesome oil bath when we were somewhere safe again.

Dack nodded. "By the time I got to the controls, he'd already recalibrated the sensors to look for your bio signature. Since I was already in the air, I figured that one more ship wouldn't be missed in the confusion."

"So you came after me," I said, truly touched. "Thank you."

He shrugged a shoulder, uncomfortable with the praise from a royal. "I wouldn't be here now without you, Rori. Being part of a team like Rogue Squadron is what I've always wanted out of life. And that wouldn't exist without you. So I suppose I owe you twice."

I shook my head, feeling the odd sensation of my curls brushing my face. "You owe me nothing, Dack. You earned it. I'm just glad that you are alive. Sincerely, I'm glad."

Because he was supposed to be pancake batter on the bottom of a walker's foot right now. I shivered again, and cleared my throat. "We probably don't have a lot of time," I said, glancing over the barely lit controls of the ship. We were on standby power for some reason. "What's going on? What have I missed? How long was I taking a bacta nap?"

"Four hours in the soup," he replied, clicking a few buttons to nurse power back into the systems. "About another hour asleep. So from the time we found you til now? About six standard hours total."

I whistled low. "The base?"

"Fallen."

"Our people?"

"Most of Rogue Squad has escaped already, so have all the capitol ships from my count. The 'Falcon is hiding in a cave like we are right now, on the other side of the planet."

"Why is the 'Falcon still here?"

He looked at me oddly. "Your sister wouldn't leave until she knew you were okay. She missed the last transport out for that reason. Captain Solo wouldn't leave her to face the wrath of the Empire alone, so he took her with him on the 'Falcon. From what I heard, it was a rather explosive display of temper on both their parts. He actually threw her over his shoulder like he did to you, dragging her kicking and screaming onto the 'Falcon. She was literally going to stand there and face down the entire Fleet if she had to, to ensure you were okay."

I buried my face in my hands so he couldn't see the frustration. Oh, she was waiting there for the Fleet, alright. But not out of concern for my safety. She'd been waiting there to open the door for Daddy Dearest, probably with an entire stack of data cards detailing where the next rebel base was, who was going to be there, and the best ways to go about capturing it. Expecting me to be walking beside Big Daddy V and General Veers, so our Dark Side Using Brady Bunch could go and pick up Luke from Jedi School and then gleefully destroy the galaxy.

Well, at least Han was doing what I needed him to do—saving Leia from herself. She wasn't getting off the Falcon on her own. If she'd put up even a modicum of the fight I had the first time Han hauled me onto the Falcon, she was now currently locked in that cargo hold.

"Okay," I said through my fingers, running them up through my hair. "Okay. So where does that leave us?"

"Ready to blast off as soon as Captain Solo gives the word."

"Okay," I said again, rising to my feet. One decision finally made. "If you can, comm. the Falcon and tell them to hold off a minute. I need to go have a talk with the General."

Dack made like he was about to rise to his feet, picking up his blaster from where it sat in the co-pilot's seat. "Let me go with you. I'll… do it… for you if you need that. I owe him for Damien."

It took me a second to realize what he was saying. "No," I said firmly. "No, we aren't killing him. I didn't go through all that to capture him just to execute him. And what do you mean for Dam—"

Then it clicked. Lieutenant Guy… LG… Damien Mercado. The young sergeant that had gone with me up into the walker, who most likely died in a detention cell when the thing fell or blew up. I had to rest my hand on the back of the nav chair, my legs going all wobbly. He'd followed me into battle whole heartedly, trusted me. And now he was dead.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, not sure who I was talking to. Damien or Dack or myself? Did it really matter? "Shit, I'm so sorry I got him killed."

"You didn't," Dack put a hand on my shoulder. "The Empire did. And I would like the honor of killing the son of a bitch that led the assault that killed him."

"Slow your roll, there, ace," I said, trying not to give into the urge to cry. I'd barely known Damien but he'd followed me, trusted me. Had been my responsibility. And now he was... "We need him for now. If things change… I'll let you know. For now, I need to talk to him, alone."

"Rori—"

"Dude, I'm tired and hurting and grieving right now. Don't make me make this an order. You know I don't work that way. Just give me a few."

He didn't like it, but he let go of me. No doubt turning on the comm. in the med bay the moment I walked out of the cockpit. I was going to have to be careful with what I said to Veers. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was going to have to use what Thrass and Lorana had sent me. It galled my ass in so many ways to take their help. But now I had a new situation. I had a supposed-to-be-dead rebel wanting to kill a supposed-to-be-crippled-turned-prisoner Imperial General.

And just little ol' me standing between them. I'd ask how things got so screwed up, but you're probably sick of hearing me ask that.

The Emdee droid did as I instructed and made with the anti-drugs. I winced in sympathy as Max's eyes fluttered, his face contorting in pain. But those lovely orbs of his opened, and when they stared at me they were clear. I sat down on the edge of his bunk, watching him try to lift his arms and legs. Watching him come to terms with the gravity of his situation. And then those eyes turned towards me, an oddly relieved yet guarded light in their depths.

I lifted a hand in warning, forestalling any words, and pointed at the location where the hidden comm. speaker rested. He nodded once, the action more painful than it should have been. And then I took a deep breath, and did the most painful thing I'd done all day. The very thing he'd asked me to do when we'd both thought we'd freeze to death in the snow.

I looked into his eyes, and followed Lorana's instructions.

"Axiom Theta Omicron Omega," I mouthed the high level recognition code, and cursed silently as he nodded again, closing his eyes.


	8. No time to discuss this in committee!

A/N: Look, an update! The past month was full of vacation and then catching up on work after said vacation. Forgive the lag! I wanted to give a special shout out to **Shadir, Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo, KittyCaterpillar, Nanobot5770, Hoplite39, May** (twice! LOL), **Chocolatam and Bfheadgamer** (also twice! LOLOL) for the wonderful reviews. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorite and followed, and for loving this story as much as I do.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

I'll freely admit that I've done a lot of dumb things in my life. Things as far back as sixth grade when I'd accidently set fire to the girls bathroom while trying to crimp my hair at school with a bright pink electrical death trap called the Hello Kitty Crimping Iron (it was a really stupid style but hey, it was the early 90s, and we _all_ know a butt-ton of stupid decisions were made back then), or my stroke of utter genius/stupidity to only fall for guys that were no good for me. You know, the type to run off with your money, or sleep with you only once, or torture you on a giant battle station, or use your mind-wonkied ass as a pawn in his glowing-eyed game.

Yeah, that type.

If you want to go more current, we can add all the lovely details of letting people believe I'm a princess and a Jedi and a battle leader and… well, there's a lot, okay? Jeez people, you don't see me keeping score of every little thing YOU do wrong, now do you. Cut a girl some slack! Just suffice it to say that I've found a new entry for the ever popular Mary's Mighty Museum of Mistake Misery.

I'm speaking, of course, of trying to out-stubborn Han Solo.

"Out of the question," He seethed, practically breathing my own air as he was that close to me. "That man can become a human iceberg on this planet for all I care."

The man in question, one Imperial General Maximilian Veers, sat in the lounge of the _'Falcon_ with one arm wrapped around his chest, the other politely resting on his thigh. If he was afraid of execution-by-blizzard, he didn't show it. Probably because he was clutching a side full of broken ribs and I don't know how many other internal injuries. Freezing to death might feel like a paradise compared to that. But at least he looked like Veers again. I mean, aside from being as white as snow at the moment due to the pain. The man had insisted on putting on what was left of his full uniform before leaving the _'Princess_ to have this discussion with Han. No amount of pleading on my part could change his mind.

It made me wonder just what the freak kind of training I had activated in him when I'd spoken Lorana's code.

I put that out of my mind and took that one tiny step that would put me nose-to-nose with Han. "Well, it's a good thing that I really don't care what you care about. He comes with us, end of discussion."

"You aren't in a position to give me orders, Princess."

"Oh, get over yourself already. This has nothing to do about orders. This is talking about a man's life!"

Han shook his head. "Like the lives of all those other men that he'd ordered killed today?"

"Really? You're going to bring that up now?"

His eyebrows about merged with his hairline. "Rori, for star's sake, it's been less than ten hours since the attack! If I don't bring it up now, then when? Or did you forget that he held you prisoner, would most likely have turned you over to Imperials for interrogation and termination?"

"Actually, I would have brought the Princess safely back to the Empire, where she belongs," Veers put in, speaking as if he were talking about tea rather than battle lines and kidnapping.

Han glared at him before glancing back at me. "Pump a bolt in his brain and toss the body in the snow."

"Way ahead of you on that," Dack piped up, flicking the safety off his blaster and aiming it at Veers.

Even Rido beeped an affirmative at the notion, whipping out his ion stunners and tooling up to Dack's side like they were the Lone Ranger and Tonto. Since when did my little hater droid become buddies with a rebel? Oh, probably at the thought of violence. Rido apparently didn't care what died, as long as it was organic in nature and he got in his fair share of shots.

Figures I'd end up with an equal opportunity killer as a sidekick.

"WOAH with the murder death kill plans!" I shrieked, jumping (rather dumbly I might add!) in the path of that blaster. "What did you all have for breakfast, slaughter pancakes and freshly squeezed homicide juice? How many times do I have to say it? I didn't save his ass to murder him. I need him."

"For what?" Han growled.

"For none of your business, that's what!"

"Oh, no, Princess. We aren't in Echo Base anymore. No more secrets, especially not on my ship. You give me one good reason to keep this bastard alive, or I let Dack have his wish."

My mind raced. Shit, what good reason COULD I give someone like Han? He didn't give a flip about anything but paying off Jabb—

"He's rich," I blurted, causing almost everyone—Veers included—to stare at me incredulously. "Rich, powerful… If you were to ransom him back, the reward would be…"

Han crossed is arms over his chest. "Nice try, your unholy worship. The kid said the same thing to me on the Death Star, and look where it got me."

"Okay, how about this, then," I snarled. "There's still one hell of an imperial blockade out there, and yes, it's all because of me. Cap—Admiral Pellaeon isn't going to leave until he thinks I'm dead, gone, or in his hands. And trust me when I say that man can and will get his way. He didn't survive the Thrawn Academy of Oh-My-Seriously-Crazy-Hard-But-Brilliant-Tactics to be a wimp like Piett. We aren't getting off this planet without some leverage. Max's got clearance codes and junk to help us get through that blockade. Besides, if we get boarded, it helps to have a high level Imperial prisoner to barter with."

I could see my logic penetrating the many layers of suborn surrounding his thick head. Honestly, how did Leia deal with this day in and day out? Oh, wait. She didn't. At least not in this jacked up timeline. She'd all but dumped his ass since Hater had reprogrammed her. Great, that was something else I was going to have to work through in order to get them back together. What kind of an advantage could I twist that into? Somehow the 'look, he's a stubborn douche, but he's hot. That counts for something, right?' just didn't seem to cut it.

Han continued to glare, first at me and then at Veers… but had no real follow up. Especially when Chewie stopped his near continuous growling at Veers to stare at me thoughtfully. Rido also fell silent and Dack's blaster wavered with uncertainty. Had I actually said something that made sense? Holy crap, were they going to listen this time?

"She's right," Leia said at last, breaking the brittle silence. "He's the only one that knows the fleet formation up there. We can guess where it's weakest, but he'll know for certain. Right now, he's our best chance of getting out of this alive."

"But will he tell us, that's the question," Han's mouth twisted around the words like they were sour. He didn't wait for a reply, instead brushing past me to glare down at the other man. "How about it, General, you want to live for another hour or so?"

I glanced at Veers, eyes filling with hope that he'd say yes. That'd he'd play ball. That somehow I wasn't going to watch Dack paint the walls with his brains.

Veers held Han's gaze with cool serenity, again as if he wasn't seriously wounded and facing down his own death. His eyes only twitched once, seeking out the faces of all those around him. Lingering for a moment longer on mine and Leia's before he nodded.

"I am willing to negotiate—"

"No. We aren't negotiating. You're giving me the codes, or I'm giving you an icy grave. Your choice, pal."

Max's mouth closed, a steely look coming into his eyes that would have made most normal people scream and run for cover. Apparently even while a prisoner, he expected a certain amount of respect from those around him—no, he _demanded_ it. I don't know how he did it, but he and Thrawn both could project an air of authority even if they were naked, painted green and wearing jester hats. It was so bad that Chewie shifted into a battle stance, Han and Dack unconsciously snapped to attention, and I felt my mouth fall open. Speechless.

Like, seriously, what do you say to someone like that? Other than 'yes, sir. Don't eat my face, sir… ummm, please, sir?'

The sound of half-hearted clapping gave us all a case of the jump-and-freaks. Except for Veers. His attention slid seamlessly towards the one person on this boat that wasn't affected by his military prowess, as if he had made the decision to look at her and not been surprised by her sudden applause. Leia slumped in her seat casually, legs crossed at the ankles, a dark smirk on her blood-red lips.

"Well played, General," she said, seeming to somehow put as much regal air into her posture as Veers had put military command into his stare. "However you will not find anyone still in uniform on this ship, or anyone that cares overly much for your career or rank. I'm afraid I must agree with Captain Solo. You'll give us the codes, or you'll die here. I can tell by how my sister is ready to die for you that you mean something to her. Perhaps a past affiliation to which I was unaware. Whatever the reason, she wants you alive, and we want to leave here alive. So very well, we'll negotiate—my way. You give us the codes and fleet positions, and I'll give you my word of honor that you will be transported safely to a world held by Imperial hands at our first opportunity. Agreed?"

I expected to see shadows playing behind Maxi's eyes, hints of a clever mind rapidly trying to turn this situation to his advantage. No dice there. His eyes were clear, calm, collected. As if he'd expected this very thing to take place before him. Real supreme effort kept my eyes from shifting between him and Leia, narrowing as thoughts of my own played out behind my orbs. Had the code I'd given him included information about Leia? Would he obey her, too? Or only her?

Talk about stupid actions… I'd given Max a set of orders somehow without knowing what they were, myself! Well, if I couldn't countermand the situation, at least I could help. Can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?

"I would consider that offer carefully," I added, leaning against the wall beside Leia's chair. As if I was part of this whole thing all along. "This is a one-time offer that can be withdrawn at any minute, you feel me?"

Veers let his eyes again sweep between us again. It was a good show of consideration, I had to admit. He really looked like he was going through that age old struggle of duty before death measured against a desire to see another sunrise. In the end, he bowed his head once.

"Agreed." He said.

Han certainly didn't like it. But probably not for the reasons that I didn't. Because he couldn't see the dark thing lurking behind Leia's eyes, nor the way that Veers seemed to respond to it.

* * *

The _'Falcon_ bucked harder than the over-loaded East River Ferry to NYC during New Year's Eve. I slammed hard against the restraints, fingers sliding off the slick nav board as the ship buffeted in the torrent of red turbolazer fire pouring down on us like drunks emptying their stomachs off the side of that ferry. Just a pure river of nastiness guaranteed to make the most hardened New Yorker (or in this case, smuggler) want to weep and upchuck, too.

"I need that course, Rori," Han called, fingers flying over his board.

An alarm rang out, and Leia cursed softly from the seat next to me. "Lost rear deflector shields. Going to take some time to recharge."

"Rori?"

"On it!" I gulped, prayed. My fingers running over that board as all those boring lessons from Wedge played out in my head. Had to get the right solution, adjust for celestial drift according to this side of the galaxy's star categories and gravitational pulls, and… and… shit, there was so much to remember! "Get off my ass. You'll get it when you get it."

"Tell that to the Admiral out there."

"Well," I countered in my sweetest voice. "If you'd be so kind as to open a channel, I will."

"Will you both stop it?" Leia snapped, taking the time to toss a look at us that could have peeled the hull off the ship. "Now isn't the time."

I wanted to say 'when is it ever?' but she kind of had a point. We were trying to keep from being cremated before our time, or becoming unwanted guests (again) in Imperial custody. Someone remind me to ask if they had a Rewards program or something. Endure three says in Imperial lockup and earn a free continental breakfast! Ooooh, or a tour of the ship conducted by the Captain before you're tortured! Lord knew I had enough frequent flyer miles on Imperial Suck-fest Spaceways to get that upgrade to first class.

Chewie howled. Either in agreement with Leia or because fuck-all else has just blown up in our faces.

"I know, I know, I see them," Han growled back.

Leia's head jerked around. "See what?"

"Two more star destroyers, and they're heading right at us."

"Glad you said you found a hole in the fleet formation," Leia sassed, turning back with a fury to her own board, trying like the mad to get the shields up in time. "Or I'd be worried."

"Now who's starting it," I whispered.

She glared.

Huh, both she and Han were doing that a lot lately. Oh, the things I noticed when I was about to die in a heinous way. Not the nav solution. Not the two star destroyers trying to climb up our butts or the two now facing us. Nope, it was the fact that both Han and Leia had something in common again—a dislike of me. At least, a dislike of me pointing out their flaws in the middle of stressful situations. Come to think of it, I did that to everyone, didn't I? I seem to recall doing that to Thrawn during the battle of Yavin and Thrass during—

"Rori!" Han screamed. "Course. Now!"

"Sir," Threepio shrilled over the internal comm. "I was wondering—"

Han cut the call with a slam of his fist, nearly breaking the button. "Someone shut him up or shut him down. I don't have time for his crap." Another bump of said fist got the comm. going again. "Hobbie, Dak, are you still with us."

"Still here," Hobbie pipped up, his voice sounding strained even through the speakers. "Our rear deflectors are in better shape than yours. We've moved in behind you to take some of the pressure off from those Star Destroyers. We'd appreciate it if you'd lead us the kriff out of this, Captain."

"Good," Han replied. "At sublight, they may be faster, but we can still out maneuver them. Hold on!"

I'd once said that Morvane was the craziest pilot I'd ever met. He had nothing on Han. Han took the _'Falcon_ into a 90 degree dip at the last possible second, causing one of the pursuing star destroyers to do a little more than trade paint with the two coming right at us. And the _'Princess_ kept up, her bulk more graceful than I would have thought possible.

"Two down," I gulped out, trying to put my stomach back into my gut where it belonged, and not up into my brainstem. Which is what it felt like, let me tell you, to have Gravity compensators kick in in a manic attempt to keep you upright when the idiot at the controls defied all the laws of physics! "Two to go!"

I didn't need to look out the window to know that two perfectly good star destroyers now listed away from one another, their navigation arrays shattered during their little fender-bender. That left…. Uh…. Oh, right! The _Avenger_ and the _Chimaera_. Captain Needa and Admiral Pellaeon. Color me skeptical if I didn't think our chances had improved much with those two still on our tails.

"Ror—"

"Sent!" I screamed in triumph, causing everyone to wince. Couldn't help it though! It's so… fulfilling to watch all those red dots suddenly line up and flash green. Finding a course in a hurry was like trying to play Sudoku on the hardest level when all the numbers randomly changed on you. "Get us out of—"

I totally then remembered that we couldn't leave. Because Han had never finished the hyperdrive. And I'd forgotten. Oh hell….

"They're getting closer," Leia bellowed. "Shields back up but not at full strength."

"Han, the hyper—"

"No time to discuss this in committee, Rori."

"I'm not a committee, and we're not going to hyperspace because—"

"Han," Leia tried again, grabbing the back of his shoulders tightly. "Han, they're almost in tractorbeam range."

"Oh, yeah? Watch this!"

He jerked back on the lever… and the _'Falcon_ made a sound, a horrible sound that no one wanted their electronics to make. It sounded as if the ship had joined the rest of the drunks on the ferry and was now sorrowfully puking its insides down the side of the boat.

"Watch what?!" Leia exclaimed.

Han threw the lever again.

Nothing. Silence. Terror. Crap. And the two ships coming at us like extras in Spaceballs. I could even hear the modified Jaws theme.

"I think we're in trouble!" Han muttered.

"That's what I was trying to say, dumbass," I growled this time. "Or rather Threepio was trying to say. The hyperdrive motivator is broke or something. It's impossible to go to light speed."

The ship banked hard to the right, and not from any fancy flying from Chewie. We didn't need to ask what that was. We all knew.

"_'Falcon_!" Hobbie's worried voice blared from the comm. "Any time you are ready to hit lightspeed, do it."

"We're in trouble!" Han barked, undoing his restraints and slamming down on the comm. button again. "Hobbie and Dack, keep them off our asses. Hyperdrive's down. Gonna get it back up. Buy us some time?"

"On it."

The comm. went dead. Which was fortunate, as Han was already down the hall and uninterested in anything save getting his baby out of this in one piece.

* * *

I ran down the hallway, too, just not in the direction of the engine room. No, I was heading to the last place Han wanted me to step foot. Which was just as well, as he was being a snot and I just felt contrary all of a sudden. It was good practice, I supposed. Because I had no idea how we were going to get out of this situation without being boarded. And I had a reputation to uphold of giving no end of crap to any Imperial that captured me.

Wouldn't want to leave Needa or Pellaeon feeling left now, now would we?

I skidded to a halt, miraculously not face-planting anything this time, right in front of Rido. My fave metallic sidekick had no problem weathering the barrage of lazer fire, showed no hint of being tossed about the place like a poker chip in a dryer. Though he was probably facing an aft-kicking (aft meant behind, right? Cus Rido didn't have an ass to kick) from Chewie for the gouges his magnetic feet were making in the steel. Seemed the more the ship rocked, the more juice he pumped into his own "restraints." Much to the chagrin of the '_Falcon's_ deck plating.

"Man, if we survive this, the _'Falcon_ is going to give you a jack-full for scarring her deck like that."

Rido's beep was probably all about what he thought—or cared—about that.

"Fair enough," I replied anyway. "Listen, I need to check on Maxi. So open up the door."

What he thought of that idea went right along with the amount of caring he had for the _'Falcon's_ interior.

"I'm serious! Dude, we're going to be boarded at this rate. You want to end up back in Imperial hands, dumped in some repair storage shaft until you're needed, or do you want to let me talk to Maxi and figure a way to make this easier on all of us?"

Rido was many things: asshat, sarcastic, evil, rotten, evil, and.. well… evil. But what he wasn't was stupid. And he had a ferocious survival instinct that made a wookie look like an ewok. Okay, bad analogy considering what the ewoks do in ROTJ. Still, the dude liked living. More to the point, he liked the freedoms I gave him.

The door popped open without complaint.

"Thanks, bro. I owe you."

I entered darkness accented by the strobe effect of power-deprived lighting. Apparently giving Veers some illumination for in which to pin-ball around the empty hold wasn't deemed necessary in Leia's eyes. She'd probably rerouted power from every system she could think of to get those shields back up. I was just glad that the oxygen scrubbers were still working in this section.

"Maxi?"

"I will never get used to it," Veers said softly, drawing my  
attention to the tiny corner of the room. The one that had the single chair welded to the deck. The one Chewie had given me when he felt bad about Han locking me in here with nothing.

"Get used to what?"

"Someone thanking their droid servants for following orders."

I smirked, crossing over to him. He was wedged into the corner behind the chair, legs braced against the legs of the chair and one arm flung out and braced against the wall. It was the only cover he had, the only place to keep himself from flying about the ship as Han did that voodoo pilot crap that he did so well. Blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth again, the one hand wrapped around his broken ribs trembling with the effort.

"Jesus," I hissed.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?" I snapped, reaching for the tiny little medical scanner pack thingie I'd swiped from med bay. I made quick work of attaching it to his wrist. So much more dignified than slinking it to his forehead like Praji had done to me!

"I am unfamiliar with the term you just used."

"Don't worry, I'm used to that. Nobody understands me in this t—this system." Yeah, saying 'this galaxy' was right up there with 'hey, I'm mental.' Not going to happen.

"How bad is it?"

"I'd like to say you've had worse," I said softly. "But the truth is, according to this thing, the ribs are broken in new places, you have a punctured lung—not badly—but enough to hurt like a bitch. And your spleen—"

The hand around his waist landed on my shoulder, drawing my eyes up to him. "I am aware that my physical condition is less than pristine, Your Highness. I am referring to the battle outside. From what I have observed, it does not go well for us."

"Can't a girl make a social call, in the middle of a battle, when death is a likely outcome?"

He managed a slight smile. "I see that you fall back to sarcasm when things are at their worst. I will take that to mean capture is imminent. If your pilot friend does not kill us all first."

I looked away, down into the medical case. And realized that I needed to add GFFA: First Aid to my list of training classes. I had no idea what these injectors did, or how they corresponded with the Aurebesh squiggles on his wrist monitor.

"Maxi—"

"Maximilian, Your Highness."

I shook my head. "We don't have time for courtesy."

The hand on my shoulder tightened, almost painfully. "There is always time for courtesy, Your Highness. My name is Maximilian, not Maxi."

"Didn't you get the memo? I rename everyone."

"Then make me an exception to your policy. Starting now."

That wasn't a request. Funny how many men in my life made demands out of sentences that should have been polite requests.

"Fine. I'll settle with Max, then. It's the best you are going to get from me. And I'm only giving you those concessions because you're not in your right mind with pain and junk."

His head lifted, that omg-scary-commander frost starting to coat his eyes. I held up a hand, stopping that shit before it began. "You want to be healed or not? Besides, what's wrong with Max? It's a perfectly acceptable name. And it's so much better than what I've called everyone else. Trust me."

He looked away this time, something akin to pain in his eyes, and I knew I had touched a nerve. A serious one with him. And with Maximilian Veers, there was only one nerve that could make him break eye contact, could make him show so much pain in regards to a name.

His wife… she must have been the only one in the galaxy to call him "Max" and get away with it. And the pain in his face let me know that some things hadn't changed with my insertion into this galaxy. Some things that were so minor to anyone that read the books or watched the movies, but had meant the universe to a mere handful of its residence. She'd still died, his wife. And I was willing to bet his son had just joined the rebellion, too.

"Okay, Veers," I said through a throat thick with sympathy. "Tell me what to do, then, to get us out of this."

He looked back up at me, his eyes alternating between searching with that steely strength that came with decades serving in the armed forces, and disbelief that I'd somehow known his deepest pain. I couldn't stop the sigh that escaped me. I reached up a hand to tap my temple.

"Jedi, remember?" I said. "I may not Force-choke or throw objects or anything like that. But the Force reveals itself to me in glimpses of past, present, and future. Now that I've answered your question, you answer mine," I swiveled the kit around and held it up so he could see into it. "Tell me which one of these to give you based on the readout on your wrist thingie."

Again he made with the long stare, as if trying to figure me out. Until another direct hit made it through and I started to tumble away. A strong arm and no small cry of pain halted that fall, and I found myself sitting between his legs, my back to his chest, wedging us both into that corner as the _'Falcon_ did that shake, rattle and roll to do Big Joe Turner proud.

"The third injector," he said, the arm that should have been around his waist now firmly around mine. "Dial it to four. Injection spot is my outer thigh. Follow that by the fifth injector dialed to a seven, but before you use it, give me something to bite down on, as it's going into my lung."

I shifted as much as I could without hurting him too much, apologizing each time he grunted or bit down on his own tongue to keep from crying out, until I was partly straddling him/partly facing him. I don't care how tough a man you are, a couple of cracked ribs will send you to the dirt sobbing like a tiny angry baby. Trust me. Had enough of them as a kid to know that. And the pain isn't something you get better at handling when you get older. Just ask the last douche that got handsy with me at the bar. Bet that drunk SOB wished he'd never grabbed my ass after I broke a pool cue over his side!

I didn't apologize to him as I gleefully had him thrown out of the bar. But I apologized so much to Veers he actually chuckled—chuckled!—through some of the pain.

"You have missed your calling, Your Highness," he commented as the first injector sank through cloth and skin to deliver the medicine. "You have a gentle touch. You should have been a medical professional."

I snorted, ripping a good length of silk from that horrific ballgown I was still wearing. Hey, there hadn't been time to change before all hell broke loose! Don't judge. "Please, watch me walk down a hallway one day and trip over air. You'll rethink real quick-like the idea of me an a laser scalpel anywhere near your body again."

He actually winced at the sound of expensive fabric shearing away, his chuckle fading. "I will make certain the gown is replaced," He tried, watching me twist up the fabric enough that he could bite on it without biting through it.

"Don't you dare. Do you know how many of these I own? Even in this place, one doesn't get to be a princess without wearing overinflated cream-puff dresses."

He lifted an eyebrow at that, and I cursed quietly. Of all the people to slip in front of, I knew Veers wasn't going to let it go. One way or the other, he'd ask me about that strange comment. Especially since Alderaanian princesses were known for their traditional hoop-skirt dresses. All save for Leia… who wore them only at traditional ceremonies or celebrations. Maybe I could play that one off later.

Glancing up at him, I knew I had a snowball's chance in hell of pulling one over on him. Unlike Thrawn and Co., Veers had no vested interest in letting me go on with a charade. He'd pull the answers out of me if only because he'd see posing as royalty as a security threat to the Empire. Which it was.

I shoved the make-shift gag into his mouth before he could say or ask anything else.

"Ready?"

He nodded… and so help me, I plunged that injector into his wounded side and pulled down on the trigger. The sounds he made were nearly inhuman, the hand braced against the wall curling into a claw with so much tension I was afraid he was going to pop off his fingernails. The arm around my waist pulled me in closer, tightening until I could barely breathe. I gritted my teeth and braced one hand against the wall with his. The other I wrapped around his neck and shoulders, pulling him into me just as tightly. Pulling his forehead down until it touched my shoulder.

That was all. Nothing sexual. Nothing so awesome as every fanfiction writer had ever wanted to see between Veers and a lady. This was not erotic in the slightest. This was … pain. Horrible, terrible pain. This was a stranger offering him comfort, someone on the opposite side of the war, someone flying in the face of everything he held dear and loved, that just happened to want to see him survive.

This was someone returning the favor, remembering how he had bent his head down when we were on the Walker. Shielding me with his body as the world shifted and bounced and filled with pain, just as we were experiencing on the _'Falcon_ now.

"V…eers," I wheezed. "C…Can't breathe… le…lemme go."

His grip slackened enough for me to draw in a sweet breath of oxygen, his head lifting as he spit out the gag and took in a deep one of his own. "Thank you," he said, opening his eyes. His voice almost back to the arrogant command I had first heard on Hoth. "That… that should hold me together until a proper surgeon can be found."

"Good," I said, and then sort of fidgeted in his lap.

It was a rather compromising situation, what with my left leg beneath his, my right one over his other. Not that I believed in being a prude. But… well… wasn't he the one that brought up the point that there was courtesy and all that? Didn't he know that Thrawn had pretty much claimed my ass, falling just shy of planting a flag on my forehead and proclaiming me "Thrawnlandia" or something like that? For someone so concerned with appearances, he wasn't offering so much as a hint of help in untying this human Gordian knot we'd become.

"Uhhhh not that I'm not enjoying this," I tried again. "Because I am. Seriously. I've had a crush on you since—" ESB came out? Heh. So not saying that, either! "Well, it's been a while. I have a thing for Imperials, especially those in uniform. Call it a weakness. Sue me. But, ummm, can we… you know… practice respecting each other's personal space?"

A slight hint of surprise on his face at that. Probably at that bit about the crush. But that arm didn't move. "It's time for you to answer my question as I have answered yours. How bad is it out there?"

"Last time I checked, it was the bottom of the first inning, the Empire was down by two ships, with two more at bat. In the meantime, we're still holding the field with two ships but suffered a setback of a broken hyperdrive. Your team moves much faster, but we have maneuvers. That about sum it up, Maxi…milian." I added that last bit rather swiftly. Nicknames died hard for me.

"I do not feel the ship shifting like before. Who is flying?"

I thought back to that scene. "Uh, Han and Chewie are in the engine room. That means Leia is flying."

His mouth compressed and his arm started to slack. This time, I held onto him. "Wait. If we're doing this trade thing, then it's my turn again. What did that recognition code mean? What did I activate in you?"

"The code was a high level recognition code," he said simply, starting the process of pulling us apart. "It means that I am to follow your lead when it comes to our mutual survival."

"And that of Leia's?"

"Especially that of the Lady Vader."

I hissed, letting him lift me to my feet. "Not so loud, there, Ace," I threw a glance around the cargo hold. "She doesn't—ummm—just don't blow it for her, for reals. There's a lot riding on what she and I are doing."

That was about all the explaination I could give him without revealing just how Leia and I were in our current situation. He nodded, grimacing a bit. Either in pain or at his own slip in vocabulary. "Apologies. She was to reveal the truth of herself on Hoth. I am to assume that she did not?"

"That would be a big, fat no. So don't go volunteering, capise?"

"As you say, Your Highness."

"Great, glad we got that out of the way. Now you owe me an answer to that second question, Veers. Fess up already. What orders are you operating under thanks to that code?"

His eyes finally lost the hints of warmth, and with that, he became the arrogant General that had pulled me into the belly of the beast on Hoth. Whatever had passed between us minutes ago was just that—the past. I had a feeling his sudden lack of share-and-care had to do with Leia still being in the closet regarding her true parentage.

"I have answered enough of your questions for now, Your Highness. I have one to ask in return before I will answer that."

"I'm all ears."

A hint of a smile, faint and filled with the General attitude. Oh yeah, Veers was back in business mode. "I will ask, when I feel the time is right."

"You mean, you'll ask when you need something else from me," I sighed, slipping up under one of his arms to act like a living crutch. "No, don't say anything else. After all the time I've spent with you military types, I'm beginning to hear the things you don't say more than the things you do."

"As you say, Your Highness."

"You know, Veers, we've been through a lot in our eight plus hours together. I think we know each other well enough to cut the crap. If you want to tell me to fuck off, do it. You don't need to couch it in pretty words. I'll usually return the favor."

The smile became a frown. "Decorum, Your Highness," he chided me. "Your time with the rebellion, though noble on your part to undergo such depraved conditions and company, has manifested in bad habits for you."

"I'd tell you what to do with those bad habits, but you haven't pissed me off yet. I still like you. Shall we stop tapdancing on my emotional mind field and start helping Leia keep us alive?"

There was no mistaking the smile this time. "As you say, Your Highness."

He was definitely telling me off, with a touch of sarcastic humor. 'As you say' must be military code for 'screw off.' Great, I was just amusing the hell out of everyone today. Just what I lived for!

"Hey, Veers?"

"Address me as General Veers, or General, Your Highness. Decorum and courtesy if you please."

I rolled my eyes. Apparently it was ingrained in everyone in uniform to be polite as punch. Made me wonder what ol' Maxi would think of a couple of New York sailors on shore leave. The mouths on them would be enough to make me sound like a saint. "Yeah, I'll give that some consideration… if you answer that question of mine. What orders are you operating under?"

We exited the cargo hold, and Veers swung us into a hard right. Taking us towards the cockpit. For someone with a lot of internal injuries, he was still hella strong. I had to find out who organized the Imperial Personal Trainer Organization and put myself on the roster. Literally every man in uniform I'd met felt like they could bench press a Buick. It gave credence to Han's suggestion that even while wounded, Veers was a threat not to be taken lightly.

And there I was, nestled under one arm as I helped him limp down the hallway. You'd think I would be calling the shots. From the strength in that arm draped over my shoulders, the only thing I was controlling was Jack and crap. And Jack was nowhere to be seen. You fill in the rest.

"Ve—General, make with the answer already. See, I'm being all polite and courteous and junk."

"It is a nice start, Your Highness. It's my hope that you will be back to yourself before we connect with the rest of the Fleet."

"That's so not in the cards, bro."

He didn't bother to look down at me. "Isn't it? Regardless, I will not argue with you concerning mission specifics. Show me to Her Highness, the Princess Leia. She'll need my help in flying this crate if Captain Solo and his wookie friend are otherwise engaged."

Oh, Han was just going to _love _that.


	9. I blew up the Death Star

You would think that I'd be more focused on the lit stick of dynamite that was standing before me. But no… all my mind could concentrate on was Veers' final comment of 'mission specifics' and how it related to Leia and me. There was something in those specs, something that had to do with the orders that Leia gave to have me kidnapped on Hoth. I'm pretty certain there was a dash of don't-kill-my-puppet thrown in there from the Witches of Eastwick (aka Thrass, Thrawn, and Threnody) to round out that order set. But for the life of me, I couldn't put the pieces together.

Because something in me just screamed that my meeting with Veers wasn't coincidental, that Leia had had to improvise when I'd run off to the front lines to fight. Somehow she'd gotten the word out to Veers to have me picked up, that was a given and not too unexpected. What I couldn't wrap my brain around was how that tied into whatever Thrass and Threnody/Lorana had ordered Veers to do via that code. Had Leia somehow gotten a message to them about me during the fighting on Hoth, too? But why would a puppet of Vader—Thrawn's sworn enemy right now—work to help Thrawn's bro and sis-in-law?

It made no bloody sense.

Which was why I needed to get that code information out of Veers before Leia further imploded.

But first, I should probably keep Han from imploding Veers's head with his fists. I wanted to pick the guy's brain something fierce, not pick it _UP_ from the floor of the cockpit.

"Hey, look on the bright side," I tried, gulping at the look on Han's face. He wasn't too pleased to see an Imperial General sitting in his chair, flying his ship. "No one expected him to fly for our side. Not you, and certainly not Captain Needa or Lord Hater."

"Vader," Leia corrected absently from the co-pilot's chair, flipping switches and doing a damn fine job of helping Veers keep our hides intact.

"Whatever," I shot back, keeping my gaze—and my body—between Han and Veers. Not that it would stop him if he wanted to reach over and throttle the General. Which he did. But one could hope? "My point is that he'd bought you the time to get the shields back up and the hyperdrive working, right?"

Han grimaced and glared all at once. "Not exactly. You, out of my chair."

"What do you mean, not exactly?"

"I don't have time to discuss this—"

"—in committee. Yeah, yeah. Heard it before," I interrupted, sidestepping his sidestep to get back into his path. The more of a distance I could keep between him and Veers, the better. "So make with the specifics here, will ya? How long before we can lightspeed it out of here?"

"Depends on how long it takes to get to my seat, now doesn't it?"

Veers rose smoothly, wisely keeping his mouth shut and me between him and the man that wanted to rip his newly fixed lungs out through his nose. Han, likewise, revolved around me in the opposite way, keeping me between him and Veers. I felt like a roundabout.

"So nice of you to play together sweetly," I said in my most charming voice. "Maybe next time the two of you can graduate to using actual words at one another."

"I've got plenty of words for him," Han growled. "Not a one of them pleasant."

Veers lifted his chin slightly. "I can see where your bad habits have come from, Your Highness."

Han's head whipped around, a truly offended look on his face. "Don't go blaming her on me," he snapped. "She was damaged goods long before we met."

"Hey!" I stammered… and then threw an arm out when Veers started to advance, apparently in my defense. "And hey, I can defend myself. Settle down, Wounded Warrior. I got this. And I'm not damaged goods, flyboy. Don't make me punch you to prove it."

Leia sighed in disgust, fingers still flying across the board. "This isn't helping."

"Nor is the course he set," Han glowered at the screen. "We're heading towards an asteroid field."

"It was the only tactical advantage available, Captain Solo," Veers interjected from behind me. "It was our hope to skim as close as we could to it. The plan will not stop the TIES from pounding on us, but it will eliminate the threat of the two Star Destroyers for a time."

Han ignored him, turning a withering look on Leia. "That was the best you could come up with?"

She shrugged, not bothering to dignify that with a look. "I'm not a pilot, Han. You said keep the ships off of us until you could complete the repairs. I'm doing the best I can."

"Yeah," Han retorted, glaring back out the viewport… and then his expression softened to something almost contemplative, a hand rubbing his stubble-flecked jaw. "Yeah… that's a good idea actually."

"I know. General Veers suggested—"

"No, not that, Your Worship. Well, partly that. Set course two-seven-one."

Leia's brows furrowed as Han sent her the course corrections. And then we were all treated to the rare look of utter shock blasting across her features. "You-you're not actually taking us INTO the field?"

Han shrugged. "Like you and the General surmised, they'd be crazy to follow us."

As if on cue, the comm. crackled to life. "_Falcon_, this is the '_Princess_. That course is going to take us close to the asteroid field. I repeat, that course is going to take us—"

"We heard you, '_Princess_. Standby." Leia snapped, still goggling at Han. "You don't have to do this to impress me."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind when I thought of it," he murmured, throwing his concentration into the flying. "But if it helps…"

"I'd be much more impressed by surviving this unscathed."

The comm. came to life again. "_Falcon_, this is the _'Princess_. Good luck. I hope you get clear and make it to the rendezvous point. We can't follow you in there."

"Then cut and run," Han replied, and suddenly frowned at the comm. "I personally upgraded those engines on Teardrop. You have the speed to get clear of the gravity wells and hit lightspeed—"

"Negative," Hobbie said, voice sounding oddly empty and utterly… defeated… across the channel. "We're caught in a tractorbeam. Our fight is over. Get clear, and get the Princesses safely to the Alliance. They can't fall into enemy hands."

I was moving out of my seat, as if proximity to the comm. would make my words have more impact, more power to save them. "Hobbie, this is Rori. You tell Captain Needa or Admiral Pellaeon or whatever hotshot is running that ship that you and Dak are under my personal protection. Do you hear me? Under the protection of Princess fucking Aurora Soresen of Alderaan, backed up by Grand Admiral freaking Thrawn AND Lord bloody Vader, you feel me? They won't interrogate you then. They won't so much as harm a hair on your heads. Just sit tight until I can figure out how to get you out of there."

There was a sad quality to the momentary static silence on their end of the comm. Don't ask me how silence can be sad. It just was. And for a moment I was terrified that my message hadn't gotten through, that the Star Destroyer had jammed their communications already. But then it crackled back to life.

"I will," Hobbie said.

"Dak, you copy?"

"He… he didn't make it," Hobbie whispered. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness."

I shook my head in disbelief. "No, that's not true," I blurted. "I saved him. Do you hear me? I _SAVED_ him on Hoth from that fate!"

"The first blast that hit us set off an electrical backcharge in the _Princess's_ main reactor. Dak was caught in the surge. He… he passed before we broke atmosphere."

I stumbled back, numb. Shocked. Unable to believe it. Dak had died… on Hoth… like he should have. My eyes squeezed shut, my legs giving out. I hadn't changed his fate after all. Death on the ground or in the sky made no difference. A good man, a friend, had found his grave on an unforgiving planet of ice and snow. Maybe there were some things that I couldn't change, some events that had to live on, ironically, in the pattern for which they'd been destined.

I watched the sensor screen as the little white blip that was the _Runaway Princess_ was drawn backwards towards the bigger white blip that was a Star Destroyer. Helpless like a fish being swallowed whole by a shark.

It wasn't until the rest of the TIES were smashed to bits in fiery asteroid deaths and Han was naively flying us down the throat of a giant Dune sandworm wannabe, that I realized I was crying. Full on sobbing. And that I had stumbled back into Veers's lap, one arm around my waist, the other patting my hair as I clung to him. And finally gave vent to the grief of my first real failure since waking up in this jacked-up galaxy.

Owning up to the fact that I'd just lead three people now to their deaths.

* * *

Veers set the mug down in front of me, and for once my nose didn't wrinkle from the acrid scent of orange slimy vitamin mix. A soft, velvety aroma curled in tendrils of wispy steam from the contents. Chocolate, it smelled like. My nostrils, traitors that they were, got together with my equally treacherous tastebuds to entice my mouth to water. How long had I been sitting there in the nav chair, staring out at the black misty nothingness that was the bowls of our worm-host?

Not long enough, my mind whispered. Because the fact that two and a half people were dead (Hobbie being the half in the equation, depending on if my bluff worked or if the captain of said Star Destroyer decided to call it) due to my orders. I still couldn't wrap my mind around it.

Things were different when you read about death and loss, when you read about a war that claimed the lives of characters you'd come to love. Take for instance the death of Mara Jade Skywalker. Just suddenly a character that was so familiar, like a voice in the back of your own mind, was suddenly gone. There was an emptiness in your thoughts, an unoccupied space where that voice had been, that would linger in distracted quiet until you replaced it with something else.

Reading about Dak's death in the novelization of ESB hadn't been as traumatic. But having known the guy instead of known _of_ him, having laughed with him, slept next to him in cramped barracks while our ice rooms were carved out of that glacier on Hoth, shared a drink with him time and again—literally out of the same glass, because, hello! supplies were scarce on Hoth—wasn't anything like reading about him. His death was as real to me as the loss of any friend. And I grieved. I deeply, utterly grieved.

God, how did murderers live with themselves? I was indirectly responsible for the death of two (and a half) men, and I was so sick with myself that the thought of food made me want to hoark chunks.

Well, not all food apparently, I amended as my eyes slid over to that mug again. Stupid traitor body.

"For the first time, I wish this really was a dream," I found myself saying aloud.

Veers took the seat across from me, nudging the mug closer with a fingertip. "Drink. And talk to me."

I rolled my head to the side, staring at him. He was out of his uniform again, dressed in some of Han's clothing. They were around the same height, but Veers was broader in the shoulders, more muscled in the arms. The white shirt clung to him like a second skin, the black paints with their red Corellian Blood stripe a touch baggy on him. Making him look like one of those bodybuilder jock types that troll the bars looking for hotties to hump-and-dump.

Or like an extra in the Fast and Furious movies. Despite his age, he could seriously stand next to Vin Diesel and give everyone twice the reason to drool.

If we were back home at my bar, I might have gone for him. Even knowing it was a one-time deal. Sometimes an hour of mind-blowing sex was better than a year's worth of relationship drama. Sometimes it took a mind-blowing orgasm to erase whatever pain you were feeling and get your head screwed on straight. Example: the surprise sex with Praji on the Death Star.

Some of that must have shown on my face, and he lowered his eyes. Not shy or coy-like. Just turning down the obvious invitation. Politely. Graciously.

"You're a good man," I found myself saying, reaching out for the mug. Just something to break up the awkwardness of that moment. The drink was warm and scented with some kind of spice I couldn't recognize. "Seriously, I mean that. Thank you."

"It was the least I could do, Your Highness. You have not partaken of nourishment since we landed."

I shrugged, gently swirling the drink. "Not particularly hungry."

"This was your first time loosing someone under your command."

It was a statement of fact. The sky was blue (or green, or yellow, or orange depending on the planet and the time of day), the oxygen was breathable, and the stars were shining. Dak Raltor and Damien Mercado were dead. Yay statistics.

"Yeah," I answered gruffly.

"What could you have done differently to change that outcome?"

I huffed out a laugh. "Refused to go to Hoth? Gone back in time and taken out the Emperor before he reached adolescence?"

He frowned. "Unacceptable answers. Try again."

I lifted an eyebrow, bringing the cup to my lips on reflex. It wasn't exactly chocolate, and the spice wasn't exactly cinnamon. It was close, though, and I appreciated the effort. "Leia suggest you bring this to me?"

"Her Highness is worried about you. And, to be honest, so am I."

What could I say to that? I'd be worried about me too, if I wasn't so upset with myself at the moment. "This uncouth Princess is worth the concern of the mighty General Veers?"

"This uncouth Princess is a servant of the Empire," he countered. "I swore an oath to protect all loyal citizens."

"That includes nursemaid duty? You could have handed this off to Threepio or Rido to bring to me."

"The droids are currently engaged in repairs under Captain Solo's direction."

"And he doesn't trust you enough to let you help," I finished for him. "Which is why you are here with me."

He shrugged fractionally. "If there is any way I can carry out my duties, I will do it. Including bringing hot beverages to belligerent citizens refusing to look after their own wellbeing."

I almost rose to the bait. Almost. I mean, belligerent? Seriously? Who says that anymore? "How am I being belligerent?"

"You are refusing a direct command from me."

That got a blink. "I don't recall signing up for the Imperial Army, General. I don't report to you."

"Irrelevant in this situation. You function under orders from your superior. I do the same, even if those orders are different. You have suffered a setback, a loss of two major assets to your mission. Tell me how that could have been avoided."

"What is this, a debriefing?"

"Yes. Answer."

"No."

"Very well," he said, surprising me as he rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" I blurted.

"To the infirmary. According to Captain Solo, my bunk is there until otherwise noted."

"You're going to sleep?"

Again, he shrugged. "I explained this already, Your Highness. I will do what I can to complete my mission objectives. Currently, that involves resting and healing and waiting."

I suddenly didn't want him to leave, didn't want to be alone in the darkened cockpit, feeling the asteroid lurch every so often as TIE fighters tried to bomb it back to the Stone Age.

"What about… I mean… why did you come to see me if you were just going to leave like this?"

He turned back to me, drawing to his full height and folding his hands behind his back. "I sought the company of a fellow officer on a similar mission, hoping to assist with your objectives. You have elected to reject my offer of assistance. I'll leave you to your work."

I thought my eyes were going to cross with the absurdity of that statement. He really thought I was an imperial operative deep undercover, just like Leia. And he really wanted to help a fellow officer complete her mission. I set the mug down, rubbing my eyes. Jeez, I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't want to think about any of it, honestly. But I didn't want to be alone, either.

"No, please. I'm sorry, General. I… yes, okay. This was the first time in a while that I've been a part of two deaths. I feel like a serial killer, okay? I'm having problems processing it."

He sat down again, crossing one ankle over his knee, resting his folded hands in his lap. And waited.

Well, wasn't this handy. My entire time here I'd been going on and on—mentally at least—regarding my need to psychoanalyze myself. Enter Maximillian Veers, part time General, part time psychiatrist, full time honorable guy. Quite the résumé.

Okay… what the hell. They say confession is good for the soul. Couldn't hurt, right?

"I blew up the Death Star."

Annnnddd that wasn't exactly what I wanted to lead with. It certainly wasn't what he expected to hear anymore than what I wanted to say. He blinked several times, processing that little nugget of truth. Probably deciding if it was more in line with his 'mission objectives' to snap my neck for that or to listen to the rest of my confession. Maybe he should add part-time priest to his list of qualifications?

I sure needed to add "full time dumbass" to mine after a statement like that!

"Let me clarify?" I added quickly. "Actually, I take that back. Not the Death Star part but the clarification part. Let me warn you instead. What I'll tell you is beyond your pay-grade, sugar. People have a bad habit of having their careers and destines altered when I open my trap and start yapping about what I know. If you really want to know, I'll tell you. But you better be damned certain you want to know it. I'm not above the told-you-so's when this whole thing backfires on you. So what's it to be, General? Now is a jim dandy time to gracefully back out."

To his credit, he sat back and considered that a really long time. He didn't know it, but he was at his own crossroads right now. Granted, his original destiny of ass-planting in a hover chair while his career slowly degraded around him was gone. He had a chance to go on and do some amazing shit. Just as he had a chance to be wrapped up in the knotted yarnball that was Thrawn and Thrass's master plan.

"There's more than one civil war out there, General," I said. "The question is, do you want to fight in that one, too."

"You told me that you are a Jedi," he started slowly. "That your talents lead towards soothsaying and prophecy rather than combat. What do you see for me?"

I stared down into my tasty not-chocolate. "I can tell you what I don't see any more. You in a hover chair, for starters. When that speeder crashed into your walker on Hoth, it should have crushed your legs to powder. You refused cyber implants and spent the rest of your career in that chair. Things didn't go well for you after that, what with the Emperor's many prejudices and oh so many hotshots thinking they can do your job better than you just because they had legs. You ended up regulated to some backwater world guarding research stations or something."

"And that is why you risked your life attempting to cut into my 'walker' as you called it?"

My turn to shrug. "Actually, that was a happy accident. I didn't know you were on that one. Though I did try to send word to you of what I saw in your future. Guess the message never made it through. Remind me to give a certain Grand Admiral a kick in the ass for that. Oh, and I no longer want to punch you in the face for stealing my coffee."

His turn to blink, though I couldn't tell at what part of the random mash up this conversation was becoming. "Your… coffee?"

I waved the comment away. "An attempt at bad humor, hon. Since I knew you would lead the assault on Echo Base, I sorta blamed you, personally, for every supply line that was cut. Even imagined you drinking my coffee all nice and happy in your office on your Star Destroyer. Knowing it was rebel scum coffee."

That netted me a small smile, one slightly lopsided. "You give me too much credit, Your Highness. Though the term 'rebel scum' has an interesting ring to it. I believe I shall think of it every time I have caf and chuckle."

I smirked back at him, sipping the not-chocolate. Honestly feeling better for it and the shrink session. "Thanks for the conversation."

"That sounded like a dismissal. I am not ready to leave."

And there went my fleetingly elevated mood, pushed aside by the fact that I hadn't managed to deftly change the topic. He wasn't going to let this go, this… whatever it was going on between us. And I was going to have to do it. I was going to start calling this 'the speech' from the amount of times I'd saved men from gory fates who stupidly thought they owed me their lives in return. I took a deep breath and started in.

"Look, General. Much like everyone else I've saved, I didn't do it so you could end up with a similarly bad fate. I did it to give you a chance to do something awesome with your life. So walk away—in your case, literally, because you almost couldn't—and go back to doing what Generals do. I'd tell you to remarry, but I know you'll see it as an insult. So go live long and prosper and all that shiny happy crap people with free destinies are supposed to do."

"I am doing what a General should do," he replied, his gaze even and level with mine. "No, allow me restate that. I should have you standing at full attention for hours on end, contemplating your place in the Empire and why it is a bad idea to ignore a direct request from a General. However, I am willing to be lenient for now."

"Good luck with that. See my previous statement of not being in your service."

"And see my previous statement regarding my mission objectives."

I pressed the mug to my forehead, hoping the warmth would somehow inspire a great string of words to make him give up already. All I succeeded in doing was dipping the choppy, short strands of my still-uneven bangs into the not-chocolate and hearing Veers sigh.

"I see we have a long way to go before we rejoin the Fleet, Your Highness," he took the cup from my hands, managing not to get any of my drippy hair on his fingers.

"You keep saying that like you were ordered to—" I cut off, pinning him with a sharp stare, which probably looked comical with not-chocolate running down my face. "That was part of it, wasn't it?" I accused, narrowing my eyes. "Part of the orders I unlocked. You're supposed to turn me back into a polite Princess!"

"In a roundabout way," He conceded. "A portion of my orders include protecting you, even from yourself."

"Meaning?"

"You have spent far too long in the company of rebels. As is reflected in your willingness to avoid my request by any means. It is past time for you to relearn proper protocols before we report to our superiors. I will not have this behavior from anyone I serve with, for any reason."

My forehead touched the nav console, smearing cooling not-chocolate across the screen. "Is it too late to tell you to leave?"

"Incredibly. As it stands, you have asked me if I wish to know items of intrigue regarding the nobles of the Empire. My answer is this: if your vision was correct, then my destiny was altered by your actions. It appears that whatever happens to you will now affect me. We are bound together for the time being."

I groaned. "This _is_ just like Nova all over again."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sergeant Nova Stihl," I looked up through my sodden bangs. "I saved Nova from a useless death on the Death Star. He said the same thing, in a roundabout way. It took me forever to shake him. You going to be that big a pain in my ass, too, and profess the need to bodyguard me?"

"You seem to have a habit of collecting men who should have died."

I took that for the affirmative answer it was. Great. This time I really didn't have anything to barter with him to get him to change his mind. No money, no Force training... Unless I could somehow convince Yoda to let him take my place as Swamp U? Somehow I didn't see that happening.

"Yeah, it's my new hobby. Some people collect baseball cards or stamps or coins. I collect military men I never intend to sleep with," I glared, swiping at my hair and probably smearing more not-chocolate on my face. "Seriously, last chance for freedom here, pal. I suggest you take the offer."

He made a show of glancing around the cockpit. "And just where would I go, Your Highness? For the moment my options are limited."

"Only for the moment, General. Things change in radical ways, at radical times, around me."

"So I am noticing," he shrugged. "How was it that you were responsible for the destruction of the Death Star, and how does that relate to the loss of your friends?"

"You aren't going to give up, are you?"

His response was to sink into the chair, establishing a comfortable position, and leveling that heavy stare in my direction.

I sighed.

* * *

My head still hurt when I woke up, my dreams filled with all sorts of craziness thanks to Dr. General Stubborn and the Unending Questions of Unendingness. Veers had run me through the entire scenario with both Damien and Dak over and over and over again, picking apart every decision and word and order until I knew it by heart. He'd asked some seriously awesome questions, and then some that sounded like they were so far out of left field as to not even be in the vicinity of our conversation.

But he always looped it back to the fact that two men were dead. I had to own it, own every second and decision and word, so that it never happened again. A good leader, he said, learned from his mistakes. A great leader promised himself and his men that the same mistake would never happen again. The best leaders took it a step further and _ensured_ it would never be repeated. Ever. And the only way to do that was to make that loss part of one's being. Like a heartbeat or a breath.

It had made sense when we both lay down to sleep in the infirmary, he in his bunk and I in the one across from him. Rido standing between us like a guard. That was Han's orders. It had to be. Only someone that didn't understand Rido at all would set him on guard duty without first explaining why. Rido was more likely to watch Veers attack me, filming the whole thing for use later. Only stopping the violence when it was clear that Veers would end my life.

Violence magnet though he may be, Rido really was loyal. The only organic that wouldn't die on his watch was me. Didn't mean he wouldn't let me get beat to hell and back while he watched, though.

Huh. Maybe Han did understand him more than I thought. Sick bastard.

At any rate, my dreams had been filled with our conversations, twisting so much that it turned into Veers and I sitting on my couch back home, playing Star Wars Battlefronts on the PS3. Dei was humming to herself in the kitchen, making a huge batch of real hot chocolate with real cinnamon. Slow simmering the milk so it didn't burn and adding the spices pinch by tiny pinch. She never went with Mexican chocolate, believe it or not. While we both loved it, we just preferred to temper the naked chocolate with our own amounts of cinnamon.

And instead of a blizzard outside the window, there was nothing but blackness and mist, the building shaking every so often as if from the faintest of earthquakes. Every time I tried to finish a mission, Veers would shake his head and make me start over from a different vantage point. Every time I lost a man, I would cry. And we would stop, and he would make me explain just how I lost that man. And then he'd put the controller in my trembling hand and make me play the mission again.

All the while he sat beside me, my beating heart in his hands. Carving two names deep into the pulpy flesh.

Damien Mercado and Dak Raltor.

Screaming at him didn't help. Trying to throw the controller away was worse. He'd grab the back of my neck and make me walk over and pick it up again. And then it was back to the couch and back to playing the game. One doesn't give up because a mission is difficult, he'd say. One completes it. Failure is never an option. Loss of your troops is never an option. So we drilled until all of that was true.

I woke up to the desire to punch him. And you know what, the bastard actually smiled at me when I said as much in greeting.

"Good. It means I haven't wasted my time with you."

"How many times do I have to say it?" I sighed, fiddling with the buttons on the shreds of that blue ballgown. Yes, I was still wearing it. Rido had just found my trunk containing my normal clothing from where it'd slid around the cargo bay with the other crates like bumper cars. "Not your officer, General. You don't get to order me around."

He turned his back when the last button popped free. Literally popped off the gown and skittered across the med bay. The thing was already destroyed, not to mention ugly as hell before I'd torn it up. It wasn't like ripping the buttons off would devalue it further. Honestly who has the time for that many buttons anyway? Not me. Besides, it was better than attempting to rip his face off. If I thought trying to get that not-chocolate out of my hair was going to be a bitch, I didn't want to think about how hard it would be to wash his blood from me, too.

"You heard me, right?" I prompted to his silence. "Not your officer. Whatever it was that passed between us last night was nice, and I'll admit that I needed it. But it doesn't make me a card-carrying recruit of the goose-stepping variety, you feel me?"

"As you say, Your Highness."

"Screw you, too."

He chuckled.

"So," I said, steeping into the sonic and activating the curtain/shield/barrier thing. Still unnerved at the way the shower felt, and at how silent it was. So much so that we could continue our conversation. "What's your plan today, General?"

"We'll start with breakfast, in which you will eat every bite. Then we'll move onto a review of what we learned yesterday. How much you retained will depend on our next topic."

I leaned forward as if to stick my head out of the shower curtain to yell at him. You know, like any NORMAL person would do, and smacked it into the barrier hard enough that I think I lost consciousness for a few seconds. Stupid shimmering barriers that looked like fabric!

But I heard his sigh as plain as day. "Correction; we'll start with a treatment for your headache and a scan to make sure you don't have a concussion."

Hand pressed to my forehead, I slapped the button to turn the thing off and deactivate the barrier. I was clean enough, dammit. The moment the barrier dropped, my clothing was shoved into the gap. The man was serious when it came to his decorum. I was almost insulted that he didn't want to see me naked. Almost. Because this was Veers. I could have looked like Venus, herself, walking out of that clam-shell painting, and he still would have thrown a blanket over my body with his eyes closed.

Out of respect for his wife's memory. It wasn't personal at all.

"I want to hate you, but I can't," I said as I slipped into a tunic and pants. This one green in color with gold Alderaanian scrollwork on the bell-like sleeves. A matching woven-gold belt was thrust in next, and I knew he wouldn't see me until I'd put it on. At least he let me walk out of the shower without putting the boots on.

Only because he held a blaster holster for me. I eyed the thing like it was a serpent. "Oh, no."

"You will go armed, Your Highness."

"I don't do guns. Nothing against anyone who owns them. I support the Second Amendment with whole-soul like any good American. Just like I support my right to Just Say No."

Okay, that was an anti-drug slogan from the 80's, but he didn't need to know that.

"Alderaan is gone, Your Highness, and with it all of its laws," he said, assuming that's what I was going on about. "We are within enemy territory. One of us will have a weapon at all times."

"You really think Han will let me carry a blaster on his ship, especially given how much time you and I spend together?"

"He will allow you to carry a weapon," he replied without missing a beat. "Captain Solo was trained by the Academy, with the same shrewd instincts ingrained in him that I am trying to ingrain in you. He believes you to be the same as he: loyal to the rebellion to a point, but more loyal to your own existence. Right now we need him as much as he needs us. He'll let you carry a weapon."

"Unlike you?"

Veers did that shrug thing again. "He knows I am loyal to the Empire, even above my own life."

"I noticed you didn't say to Lord Vader or to Admiral Thrawn."

"Irrelevant right now. Both continue to serve the Empire for the time being. It's unnecessary to take sides at the moment."

"And when it is, what side will you choose?"

"The side of the Empire, just as you will."

He had me there. "I need a better poker face," I groused. "You read me too well too quickly."

"I can teach that to you."

I groaned, flopping down onto my bunk to pull on the matching green synthsuade boots. "I'm not interested in being made into a weapon of war. How many times do I have to say it? Oh, and this discussion is moot anyway. I don't have a blaster to carry. All I have is my lightsabe—

His answer was to glance at Rido, who gleefully opened a compartment to display two matching blasters and one holster. I had a feeling Veers was holding the second one out to me.

"Holding out on me?" I accused the droid, having no idea where he'd gotten that pair. The Rebellion was so strapped for weapons and stuff that not even every solider got a blaster. How long had he had those?! He beeped back at me, and Veers smiled. Causing me to glare at him in return. "You understood that?"

"I speak some binary, yes," he said, going about fastening the holster to my belt. "I will add that to your training as well."

"I hate to break it to you, General, but I ain't some special operative. This isn't Call of Duty: Black Ops, here. I'm just a person."

"You _aren't_," He corrected my grammar, fastening the last strap around my leg just above the knee. "And after what you told me last night of the conflict between Lord Vader and Grand Admiral Thrawn, I beg to differ. Whether you have training or not, you are an operative in both wars now."

"Like you?"

I expected him to balk politely, or change the topic. The last thing I expected was for him to nod. "Yes, like me."

Well, shit.


	10. How does one shut up and talk, genius?

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, read, favorited, followed and sent private messages! I read each and every one, and I'm so thankful you all enjoy this story so much. Special shout-outs to **Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo, MacDii, As Mad As One Can Get, Hoplite39, Malicean,** and **Guest** (sorry, there is no name there to mention but I loved the review anyway! :D) for the lovely reviews to the last chapter. This chapter here is for the Han and Leia fans. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Veers was right. Han didn't so much as glance twice at the suddenly appearing blaster at my side. He did look at me funny as I walked past him, however. I wasn't used to having something attached to my inner thigh like that holster strap. So I was doing the duck-waddle thing, feeling like I had a dirty diaper hanging off my ass. Or was that a feeling-like-I'd-just-ridden-a-horse walk? Whatever, let's just say it's the strangest feeling that made you want to shake your leg all the time.

It was Leia that came to my aid, adjusting the strap so it fit better. "A man showed you how to wear this, I presume?"

I carefully didn't look down the hall to the med bay where Veers slept. All that talk of training aside, he was still seriously messed up. It was only a matter of time before the injected bacta treatments were going to fail, and he would die. The man needed a surgeon, a long soak in a bacta tank, and a month's worth of downtime to recover from it all.

Unfortunately I'd just drafted him into my own war when he wasn't finished with the one he was currently fighting. Which meant his chances of rest-and-relaxation were far from possible.

"You could say that," I said.

"I can tell. The straps are all wrong for a woman. You need to wear this one higher and this one lower. There, like this."

I took a few steps after he adjustments, and then grinned as feeling of something hanging off my back thighs was gone. "That's brilliant!"

"That's called being a woman," she grinned. "When we get back to the Fleet, I'll have Winter show you all sorts of weapon holsters, hidden or otherwise, until we find the one that works best for you. If you're wearing the right one, you shouldn't feel any discomfort."

"Like the perfect pair of shoes," I nodded sagely. "No blisters, no cramping. Just bliss for your feet."

She laughed, turning away to pick up a welding mask and a torch. "Captain Solo has me working on manually bypassing some of the damaged power conduits. Want to help?"

"If by help, you mean 'hold a light so you can see better' or 'just talk to you,' then I'm down," my hand floated to the uneven curls swirling around my head. "I think I'm done with fire for a really long time."

She winced in sympathy. "I don't know if we'll be able to regenerate your lost locks, Rori. It's been a while since the initial injury. Even bacta has its limitations. Once the body fully heals or adapts itself, it's nigh impossible to change it."

Ah, so that's why Vader was in the suit! I'd always wondered why they hadn't shoved his burnt ass into a maraca full of the juice and shake-shake-shaked it like a Polaroid picture. Apparently burns that deep cauterized themselves, searing them into the DNA so there wasn't anything left for bacta to treat. Like how a severed limb wouldn't regenerate itself but a cut on your skin could knit itself back together in no time. It made me glance back at Veers, fearfully.

"As long as we keep treating him with injections, we slow down the permanent damage," Leia murmured, touching my arm gently. "But he is going to need a surgeon. It may be best to take him to the Fleet with us. Keep him sedated and give him the surgeries he'll need before we send him back to the Empire."

I was shaking my head before she'd finished, and the lack of conviction in her tone meant she believed that was as viable an option as I did.

"No," I said, biting my lower lip. I couldn't believe I was going to say this. "I'll do what Han suggested and put a bolt through is head before I do that. They won't take him back if they figure out he's been in rebel hands this long. And if they did, it would be to interrogate him for all he knows and then execute him. I'd spare him that pain of being labeled a traitor when he isn't one."

"You really respect him, don't you?"

I slanted her a guarded look as we walked. "If this is another accusation of me whoring around with every Tom, Dick and General that crossed my path in a uniform, don't bother. It's not like that."

"I wasn't going to suggest it," she slanted her own look at me, heat rising into her voice. "Do you really think I think that lowly of—no, stop. I don't want to fight with you, Rori. I don't want to rehash the same arguments over and over again. Our world is gone and our parents dead. We're all that's left, Aurora. You and me. And we have to make the best of it."

I shifted under the weight of her large, sad eyes, not bothering to hide my guilty expression. Lying to her like this… god, what kind of a scumbag had I become? Even if this was for her own protection. "I don't want to fight, either. Let's… let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Like?"

Ergh. This was going to be tricky. But there wasn't a better time to try and put certain things to rights. "Can I… and I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but really… I just…"

She stopped at a power conduit and flipped open the cover, handing me a small flashlight—err glow rod as they were called here—to hold while she inspected the circuitry. I could smell the brunt metal from where I stood. That thing was definitely fried.

"Just speak plainly, Rori. Let's start becoming sisters again and not strangers."

"Okay, but remember you asked me to be frank," I took a deep breath. "What really went wrong between you and Han?"

Her fingers twitched in surprise, something metallic skittering against the other metallic crap that made up the guts of the ship, and she glanced back at me. "I… I don't suppose any one thing really went wrong. It was a lot of little things that added up."

"Like what?" I pressed. What was it Veers had said last night? Know thy enemy? If I knew what Han had done wrong, maybe I could find a way to make him fix it?

"I don't know," she dove back into the circuits with serious focus. "I guess it's a difference in what we both want at the moment. He's… he's so focused on just the two of us. Like there isn't a galactic war going on beneath our noses. He doesn't see the larger picture, and as much as I enjoy his company on other topics, it just… it just wasn't working. Little things would creep in, doubts that maybe he wouldn't one day see reason and stand up against the Emperor."

"Maybe he sees the same things you see," I tried gingerly. "He just goes about it in a different way."

"Like how?"

"Well, he has no love for the Emperor," I said, using her words. Noticing that she'd stopped saying things like 'stand against the Empire.' Ever since Hoth it was all about the Emperor's wickedness and not the Empire in general. "I can assure you of that. And he's a man, for starters. They always look at the narrow field first. They'll view the galaxy in terms of what could hurt them personally, what could hurt those they love, and then how to combat both. After that, they'll focus on other things. Differences in priority, really."

She paused, her face pensive. Considering. "It tracks true," she admitted. "But how would I get him to open up more?"

"Well, talking to him is a start."

The pensiveness became a sharp sarcastic look. "Really."

I held up my hands, nearly dropping the light and blinding myself with it at the same time. I quickly put it back where it belonged—facing away from me. "Really," I echoed, blinking away bright spots. "Weren't you the one that said communication begins with a single word?"

"Quoting diplomatic philosophies back at me, now?"

"Answering my questions with more questions to divert the topic?"

"Touché," she chuckled. "I'm not used to talking about my personal feelings. In the Senate, one leaves emotion behind and uses the truth to make a point."

"We aren't in the Senate right now, love," I said gently. "And Han isn't a point to be made. He's a man who has had to live only by his emotions. It's all he knows. And aren't you Senator types supposed to take everyone's feelings into consideration?"

"Yes, but not at the loss of the greater good."

"I don't follow."

She pulled out what looked to be a lump of melted metal, wrinkling her nose at the burned smell, and tossed it into a corner. She rubbed her hand on her black pants, as if that could remove the soot from her fingers. Fat chance of that. Char took soap and water and scrubbing to get rid of, as if the ghosts of whatever had died by fire clung to you in a last-ditch effort for another moment of life.

"The Alliance, Rori. I… I can't abandon them. I can't put Han first like he wants and still remain true to my goal."

"You don't have to do both, I promise you that. He'll listen if you open up to him. He's waiting for you to do that. To show him an ounce of woman beneath the warrior. He'll respond to it, I swear it."

"Why are you so interested in seeing us together again?"

"Because he can make you laugh, Leia. He can make you glow. More so than anyone else. And you need that as much as he needs you."

She shook her head. "The man's a scoundrel."

I grinned ear to ear. That was the best she could throw at me? That meant I was making progress! "You like him because he's a scoundrel. Nice men bore you to tears."

She blushed faintly, hints of crimson turning her ivory complexion the perfect shade of peach. "Do not," she muttered.

I laughed. "Please, you'd be bored to death with a Senator for a husband. You need someone to challenge you at every word."

"Isn't that what sisters are for?" she smirked.

I smirked back. "Only until we grew up and discovered boys. Besides, just because you get a permanent man in your life doesn't mean I won't be around to give you grief when you need it. Seriously, though, at least promise me you'll think about it, about talking to Han again, I mean. I know we haven't been close for a long while, but I want to see you happy. I really do."

She nodded at length, picking up her welding mask. "Okay, I'll try. That's all I can promise right now. Going to start bypassing this conduit, so unless you have a mask or want to go blind, I suggest you go."

I planted a kiss on her cheek before I walked away. Progress. I was finally making progress! And now for stage two…

* * *

"You got a second?"

I leaned against the wall, staring down at the lower half of Han's body. The upper half from the waist up was currently buried inside that wall, the panel concealing those circuits tossed haphazardly on the floor on his other side. Currently, it was serving as a catch-all for the various tools that he needed to fix that part of the ship. I tried not to glower at those tools. Was it me or did every instrument in this galaxy look like a modified screwdriver?

Lucas must have had one serious lack of budget, or else the props guy on set had dropped the proverbial ball and had to scramble at the last minute to get something space-agey-tool-like for the scene. So he'd grabbed all the screwdrivers from the construction department and just threw bobbly bits on the end. Regardless of the truth, those were actual tools here. I suppose I should get used to it… if I wanted to say here like Dei had suggested.

_If_… that was a really large _if_ these days.

I shivered despite the relative average temperature of the Falcon. How long had it been since I'd thought of home? Not just the pop culture that I loved, but really thought of home? Too long, that's what. And considering when I woke up after capturing Veers, I had thought to myself that it was "great to be back with the people I loved most."

What did it say that Dei wasn't here, or my mother and father? That they weren't included in that thought at all?

Something thumped my leg rather hard, and I glared down. Han was staring up at me, still lying on the deck, though now most of his annoyance was fading into a growing look of concern. Apparently he'd answered me and I hadn't answered him. "Hey," he said. "What's wrong?"

Oh, dammit, there were tears on my cheeks. I was crying again without realizing I was doing it! "Nothing," I brushed gruffly at my face. "Look, Leia wants to talk to you. And before you get all defensive and shit, I said talk. Not argue. She's repairing that… uhh… whatever it was you wanted her to fix. So please, do me a favor and listen when she speaks. Don't assume, don't get pissy, don't just fly off the handle like the stubborn ass that you are. Just… listen."

I pushed off away from the wall, and found myself pinwheeling my arms when his leg rose and bumped into my shin again, barring my way. "Trying to kill me? Dude, you know how clumsy I am! I could have fallen and broken my neck and—"

The leg kicked at the same time a hand reached up and grabbed the back of my belt. I was on my butt on the deck next to him before I could draw my next breath.

"Number one," he said this time before I could start in. "Contrary to what you believe, I wouldn't let you hurt yourself… more than you do on your own. Number two, something's up. So shut up and talk."

"And just how does one shut up and talk at the same time, genius?"

"You know what I mean, Rori," he lay down on his back again, shimming his way back into the open panel. "Tell me what has you so upset. We leave your favorite pair of shoes behind or something?"

I snorted. "There's nothing in this galaxy that I'd call favorite shoes, flyboy."

"Well, something has you upset. Talk to me. And before you ask 'since when have I given two craps about your feelings,' save your breath. If I didn't care, I wouldn't offer."

I closed my mouth with a sharp click of teeth, wasting a perfectly good glower on him. He couldn't see it with his head in the innards of the ship. And yes, I was just about to ask that. Stupid insufferable man. "If I bother to ask how you knew I was going to ask that, your response would be?"

"That we think far too much alike. Which leads to how much we fight. Which also should be an indication that I don't hate you, considering you're still on my boat. Anyone else who talked to me like that would be stranded on whatever planet I hated the most. Right now, that's currently Hoth."

He had a point. We did think a lot alike. Which probably did lead to all the fighting. Talking to Han at any given time was like talking to a bullying older brother. Which was kind of nice… and infuriating at the same time.

"I was thinking about home."

He paused in his tinkering for a moment before continuing. "Yeah. I would miss it, too."

Frustrated tears made a wavy mess of my vision. He was thinking about Alderaan and I wanted so much to shake him by the shoulders until his teeth rattled. I was so tired of pretending to be this person, of not having anyone to talk to about this. I never thought I would miss Luke and Nova so much as I did right now. They knew the truth. And I could count on Nova to listen and offer advice. I could count on Luke to hold me and just let me cry and not think anything bad about it.

Here? Let's see… I had a mind wonkied princess that thought I was her sister, a smuggler that also thought I was a princess, and an Imperial General that didn't really care what I was before I gave him that code. All he saw was an operative that was failing, and he had to be the leader now to keep me on point.

You tell me where I could pour out my heart, where I could confess that it's been nearly six months since I got here and I was suffering separation anxiety. That it had been six months of running for cover and trying not to die, so much so that the state of constant paranoia had become normal for me. Now that we had real downtime, where there was nothing to do but hope that the Imperials didn't find us or that the worm we were infesting like a big metallic parasite didn't decide to barf us up, all those realities of how my life had ended were crashing down on me.

Six months gone… In New York, the detectives assigned to my "missing persons" case had relegated my face to milk cartons and fliers, my file to the stack of cold cases going into storage to never be seen again. Dei would have gotten a new roommate or moved out, our lease having expired a month ago. My parents—

I so wasn't going to think about that. No. no. no. Especially not how Mom had begged me to move to Florida with them when they retired. How she said the Big Apple was rotten to its core and it wasn't safe there anymore. God, it was crushing her right now, wasn't it, the thought of my face staring out at her every time she bought milk at the goddamn Seven-eleven.

"You ever miss it?" I asked through my tears. "Corellia, I mean."

"All the time."

"What's your trick to overcoming that?"

He paused again, shoving his way out to sit up and look at me. "It's not the same place anymore, Rori. I never had the fondest of memories of home. Like you, I was an orphan and never knew my parents. I didn't have a family. But I had places there that I loved, places that are overrun by Imperials and corrupt politicians. It isn't the same, and never will be again.

"There's no trick," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. "There's just moving on. Finding a new place to fit in, and new places to love."

"So you're saying I should just give in and accept this?"

I was talking about my forced life here, of course. He didn't know that. But the principle was the same. I was in a place I didn't want to be, thinking of things I couldn't have anymore and people I would most likely never see again. It didn't matter that I had loved my parents. I was an orphan here in this galaxy. No need to correct him on that.

"No. I'm saying that you need to do what is right for you. Find some way to make peace with the ruins of your life and make something better of it," He let go, sliding back into that panel. "And for the love of the stars, do it without anyone else telling you how to go about it."

I smirked. "Is this another leave-the-rebellion speech, ace?"

"Well, I just said do what you want for you. So no, I can't tell you that. But I can tell you that the galaxy is a larger place than just this slice of battlefield. It's the same argument I have with your sister. Thousands of star systems out there and she has to champion the bunch locked into a civil war. Hey, hand me that hydrospanner."

Ah hah! That one I at least recognized. "It gives her purpose," I said, putting the right tool in his hand. "It's what she wants to do for herself."

"That woman doesn't know what she wants, Rori. That's the problem. And she gets really pissy about it when I tell her that."

I winced. Yeah, I remembered how angry I got at Nova when Aurora was calling the shots in my brain every time he called me on my crap. I could only imagine how strong Leia's mind-tampered reaction was to that. "So don't get mad in return. Seriously, that's the trick. Don't rise to the bait. Talk her down."

The tinkering became banging, and I had a feeling Han was applying more torque to the hydrospanner than was necessary. "Easy for you to say."

That time I did laugh. A snickering laugh. "Please. See your previous comment on how much we think alike. You think talking to her is easy for me, either? She's more likely to eat my face because I'm her sister. You can't dismiss your family, no matter how hard you try."

The banging became tinkering again. "How did this get to be about you counseling me?"

I shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "You said do what I wanted to make myself happy, right? You and Leia together makes me happy."

Okay, that time the bang I heard had to be his forehead hitting something. In shock. At my comment.

Yup, I was right. He shot out of that panel faster than I thought, rubbing the side of his head. "Run that by me again?"

"You and Leia are meant to be together," I said simply. "I see the way she is around you. She's better when she's with you, and you are when you are with her. That brief time you were together on Teardrop was the happiest I'd ever seen her. Even while running a war. And stop while you are ahead," I lifted the hand this time. "Shut up and listen, really listen to what I had said. If you check your temper at the door with her like you're doing with me, things will work out better."

He glowered, but all of a sudden his eyes kept flickering to the hallway, and a certain something in the ship that Leia was working on. Was it enough? Did I get through to him? I'd like to say yes, because the way he looked at me now wasn't the same as before. The concern was still there, the wanting to make sure I stopped crying. Who would have figured Han as the type to go all soft inside when a woman shed tears? Regardless of that, there was another woman that he really wanted to comfort right now. And I wasn't offended in the least.

"Go," I said with a watery smile. "Shoo. Go talk to her. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Please, if this galaxy stopped every time I had a pity party, nothing would get done. Oh, one more thing," I prompted, causing him to turn back to face me. "Would you… would you really have shot Veers in cold blood?"

He compressed his lips, hands on his hips. "No," he said at last. "I wanted to. I really wanted to, but I couldn't have. If he refused to help us, I would have left him stranded in that cave with a locator beacon and a heat generator. I promise you that the Imperials are still crawling all over Hoth right now. They would have found him eventually."

"You're a good man, Han Solo."

"I've spaced people for saying less offensive things to me."

I snorted out a laugh, catching the grin on his lips as he headed down the hallway towards Leia.

* * *

I had my answer to some of my questions shortly thereafter, peering down at Han and Leia from an access panel in the roof. Chewie right next to me. I so felt like River Tam watching Simon and Kaylee go at it at the end of Serenity!

"Afraid," Leia gasped, her mouth inches from Han's. "I'm not afraid."

"You're trembling," Han murmured softly, rubbing her hand gently. And leaning in, voice growing softer and softer as he did so. "Admit it, you like me because I'm a scoundrel. I don't think you have enough scoundrels in your life."

Her breath caught. Even from my vantage point, I could see it. I could see her eyes widening, her body going lax and languid, and that fine trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with something so exciting and amazing that your toes tingled and your pulse raced and—

"I happen to like nice men," she breathed just as softly. "I told you this before, Han. I can't be with a man that doesn't understand me. Doesn't understand what I'm fighting for, no matter how much I want him in return."

"So you do want me?" He smiled.

"Isn't that obvious?"

"Sometimes."

Her eyes widened a bit more. "Sometimes?"

"When you aren't acting like a scoundrel."

"Me," she whisper-squeaked, shocked at his words, but not raising her voice. Not pulling away. "How have I ever been a scoundrel?"

"Every second of every day," He continued, taking yet another step closer, pressing her against the wall. "So beautiful and ruthless, determined to fill every moment with purpose. And stepping on my feelings in the process. That wasn't nice, princess. You're not a nice person. Good thing for you that I don't like nice people."

"Y-you don't?"

"Not anymore than you like nice men."

"But I do like nice men, I do—"

His mouth hit hers, and she melted into his arms. I was grinning so wide I almost cheered. Maybe it wasn't written the way Lucas wanted it, but that was pure Han kissing pure Leia. No amount of tinkering from Lord Hater could have altered that. No amount of Dark Side could erase the blinding power of love and destiny. And this time, I made certain no well-intentioned golden protocol droid would interrupt them. He was currently locked in a supply closet, courtesy of my homicidal mechanical sidekick. Man, I loved that droid!

I felt tears in my eyes as I silently high-five'd with my wookie conspirator, and this time it wasn't from sorrow or homesickness. Finally something positive was back on track, something was happening for a good reason that should have happened in this galaxy. And that gave me hope.

If Han and Leia could fall in love despite every curve ball thrown at them, then I could find a way home against all odds, too.


	11. What Is The First Rule of Combat?

I stood, took aim at the little black dot on the side of the cargo bay wall, and then ducked into a roll behind an empty shipping crate. Then I took aim at another black dot, ducked down completely, rose to take aim again, and then hit the deck. Hard. Breaking my fall with my face, as was my usual MO. Veers was kind enough to sigh this time, as opposed to the last twelve times we've tried this particular maneuver. There was this little trick where you could dive for the ground, but have your forearms down to steady yourself when you smacked the deck. That left your gun—blaster, I mean—in a steady unwavering grip. It also kept you from knocking the wind out of yourself, too. So, you know, youy could continue killing with controlled reckless abandon like a good little murdering Imperial.

And all you had to do was let out your breath as you fell, while simultaneously tightening up your abs muscles and arching your back slightly to absorb the impact of the fall. That way your thighs hit the ground instead of your pelvis, and you can launch yourself either to your feet or into a controlled roll all the while taking aim and killing whomever is trying to kill you.

God, it's so simple. Anyone can do it. Especially with a heavy blaster in your hand. Because sporting pistols are just _too _easy…

"Too slow, Your Highness. You are once again dead."

I puffed my hair out of my face, glaring at the source of all my current woes. If it had any effect on Maxmilian Hard-ass Veers, it didn't show. If anything, he returned a glare that made mine look like a cute kitten expression in comparison. If I hadn't seen it so many times in the past three days, I would have been intimidated. But today, it seemed that someone had doubled my dose of vitamin bitch.

"I am not," I snapped back. "I got my head down like you said."

"You did, but not before the tracker caught up with you. You completed the first roll to safety. It was your retaliation shot that did you in. Tell me again the first rule of combat?"

"Not to get into one?" I tried innocently. His lips compressed, and I sighed. "Okay, fine. It's being aware of your surroundings at all times. Gee, you leave no room for humor, do you?"

"I see no levity in combat training. Which is something you lack considerably, unlike your liberal use of sarcasm."

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd swear that was a compliment."

He shrugged, wincing as he did so. "Sarcasm is a huge part of your cover story, and it has its place just as any other weapon. However using it too often negates the impact."

I almost told him that sarcasm, itself, wasn't a weapon for me. It was the proverbial warning shot. Because when the sarcasm stopped, that was normally the point where I got violent. Or knocked unconscious when trying to be violent, or stunned unconscious, or… well, yeah. I wasn't very successful in the whole violence department, but it didn't mean I stopped trying!

I crawled over to where he was seated, not bothering to stand up. Not bothering to hide an expression of concern at that wince. It'd been three days since I'd stabbed him in the side with that needle, three days of hiding like a tape worm in the bowels of a, well, worm. Ever since Han and Leia had started to patch things up (I'll take all the good credit for that one, thank you very much!), they'd been scarce when not repairing the ship. One didn't need Veers's huge IQ to know that when both were missing, one stayed far away from the crew quarters.

Which happened a lot. Seriously, like a lot. At the rate they were going at it, I hoped to high heaven that Han had a warranty on those mattresses. The mileage was great, indeed if you know what I mean.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Unlike the slightly sallow tone that was slowly seeping into Veers's complexion. Or the slight yellow that was beginning to tint the whites of his eyes. Liver failure, that color said. We needed to get him to a hospital fast. Hence, my concern every time he glanced the wrong way.

"That's the first time anyone ever told me that sarcasm has a use," I said, sitting Indian-style at his feet.

"Evidently you have been listening to the wrong advisors, your Highness. Everything is a weapon in some shape or form."

Oh, that one was too easy. "Sure thing, Agent Coulson."

He lifted both eyebrows at me, and I tossed my empty blaster onto my lap. Like hell he was going to let me do rolls and crap with a blaster loaded with a full power pack. "He's a fictional agent from a comic series called The Avengers. That man believed everything was a threat. Aliens, walls, food, drink, the air we breathe…"

A touch of a smile graced his mouth. "I hardly believe I have fallen into that realm of paranoia, yet."

"Oh, sugar, don't be so hard on yourself," I patted his knee affectionately, smiling brightly. "Give yourself time. You'll get there soon."

I expected a gruff clearing of the throat, or a vexed look in response. During our "debriefing and training sessions," he really took the whole "role play" thing personally. As in, he was in the role of my drill sergeant/instructor/teacher/royal pain in the ass. I was the recruit/conscript/student/pain in the ass with potential. Nowhere in those defined categories did pesky things like friendship or casual touching come into play. Which is probably why I took every opportunity to touch him without seeming creepy about it.

Contrariness, thy name is me.

Instead, he chuckled. Which only heightened my concern. "You doing okay, there, General? You've been a bit out of sorts lately."

"I am as well as can be expected."

I snorted. "Okay, that line goes right up there with all the other crap that Thrawn, Thrass and Lo—Threnody throw at me. I swear the four of you can twist truth around so badly that it becomes a lie. Out with it, hon. Do you need another treatment? I can go and get it and—"

He eyed me sharply at that, which should have been the first clue that something was off. "Stand up," he ordered.

I did so. Like a dumbass. Expecting him to ask me to help him to medical or something like that. That so wasn't the case.

"Good," he said. "Now, shoulders back, head high. Feet shoulder width apart. Good. Now remain there."

"Why?"

"Discipline for disobeying the rules."

And then I did the second dumbass move today. I dropped the pose to turn an incredulous look upon him. Seriously, he was going to throw protocol at me when I was only trying to be helpful? And last time I checked, I was only doing all this training crap to keep him calm and to keep me from chewing the walls in boredom. I couldn't fix the ship like Chewie or the droids, and Veers wasn't in any shape to help even if Han would let him. So that pretty much left him and me with the task of staying the freak out of everyone's way.

Which in turn left us alone together, and ever since he got it in his head that Leia and I were imperial operatives in deep cover, he wasn't willing to talk about anything except how to improve on my operative skills. I didn't even get to open my mouth to start in on him with any of this. Wounded or not, he moved so fast, catching a handful of my hair and yanking me upright. Painfully so.

"Jesus, Veers—"

"You will stand at attention until I tell you otherwise," he replied, voice all smooth and rational and so making me want to kick him in the face. "You lack discipline, Your Highness. Which is why you fail so often in your target training and I suspect in much of anything you attempt in life. Focus on what I am telling you, not what you want to hear. Accept your surroundings for what they are, not what you wish they could be. Anticipation is well and good, but only when backed up with facts provided by my previous two statements."

Okay, I was really starting to get pissed. "I don't recall asking you to—"

He did something with that hand in my hair, and I swear to all that was holy I would have climbed the walls to get away from the sharp pain it caused. "You are not listening," He gave my head a little shake. "You must accept the realities of your situation if you wish to complete your mission."

"I don't understand! You're being a total tool, V—"

"General Veers."

"Fuck. You."

His hand slipped from my hair to the back of my neck, and this time I almost leaped into the ceiling. Seriously, how can grabbing the base of someone's neck be so damn painful?

"General Veers," he continued calmly. "Say it."

What was this, a bad round of 'Say my name, bitch!'? "No!"

"We will continue with this exercise until you perfect it, Your Highness. Now repeat what you are instructed to say."

The _reality_ of standing there for as long as it took for one of us to out stubborn the other was just too long to contemplate. "Okay! Okay! General bloody—"

"_General_ Veers."

"_General _Veers," I snarled, using his same emphasis.

"Again."

"General Veers."

"Again."

"General Veers!"

"Again."

"GENERAL VEERS!"

"Excellent. What is the first rule of combat?"

Shit, this again?! "Be aware of your surroundings at all times!"

"Again."

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times! What, do I have to get some crayons and spell it out for you on your level—"

"Again."

"BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS AT ALL TIMES!"

"Who am I?"

"General Veers!"

"Sir."

"Wha—"

"General Veers, _sir_."

"I'm not calling—"

"General Veers, _sir_. The pain will continue until you pass out or until I make you see reason, Your Highness," he said sternly. "This isn't a game. I am not some trophy prisoner for you, nor a charity case in which you can find relief from your grief at the loss of two of your assets by tending my wounds. I am an Imperial General and you are an Imperial operative. You _will_ behave as these realities dictate. You _will_ address me promptly and properly when I choose to speak to you. Do you understand?"

"Fuc—"

"We must start from the top, it seems. Very well, who am I?"

"A goddamn nightmar—"

"Who am I?"

"Batman—"

"Who am I?"

"Seriously, Veers, this hurts! Stop—"

His hand tightened and I went up on tip-toe. "Who am I?"

"General Veers, sir!"

"What is the first rule of combat?"

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times!"

"Incorrect. We start at the top again. Who am I?"

Incorrect? What? "General Veers, sir!"

"Good. What is the first rule of combat?"

And then I got it. Heaven help me, but I did. "Be aware of your surroundings at all times_, sir_!"

"Good. Very good. We are making progress at last. Tell me, what are you two largest flaws as I have outlined to you today?"

Oh bloody hell. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

For the millionth time, I toyed with the idea of just walking away. The Master of All Insufferable Men (a title I would have heretofore assigned to Thrawn or Thrass) was sleeping now, resting after another bacta injection. According to the chart/monitor thingy, he was deep in a REM cycle. There was no way he would know that I'd slipped away. And what would he do if he did? Han and Leia wouldn't force me to spend time with him anymore, not that they were forcing me to begin with. That was all my stupid doing. Fulfilling the idiotic delusion of many a fangirl in being close to one of their Imperial heroes.

Only he was proving to be a douche on so many levels.

Like ordering me to stand at full attention at the side of his bunk while he slept. As a punishment and reward (seriously, how in the Empire could _this_ be seen as a reward?) for making it through my first official training session with him. I was to stand a full attention and be "on alert" until he woke. Then he'd proceed to ask me questions about what I'd "really observed" versus "what I thought I saw."

Apparently there was a difference between watching and "watching." He was determined that I learn that difference.

And for the millionth time, I dropped the idea of disobeying him. While he really had no power over me right now other than what I gave him (something else I was coming to learn about myself. I let my imagination run way too wild, assigning authority and respect to people that really didn't deserve it), I knew that if I ran to Han or Chewie and told them that Veers was abusing me, they'd throw him back into that cargo hold and throw away the key. He'd die there. Pure and simple.

While I was plenty irritated with him, I wasn't ready to sentence him to death. Just as I wasn't ready to experience another evening of standing on my tip-toes as he pinched whatever nerve he had in my neck to make things hurt that badly. Screw the Vulcan Neck Pinch. I feared the Veers Palm of Pain.

It took everything in me not to lift my arm and rub the back of my neck. That was forbidden when one was "on duty." Hands were behind the back or at the sides, feet shoulder width apart, shoulders squared, chin up. Eyes forward. Always eyes forward. And always, always observing everything that went on around me.

Normally this was a point in time where I'd let my mind wander to, gee, the Star Wars universe. When faced with nothing to do, or with something I didn't want to do rather, the GFFA had been my happy escape place. I'd ponder how my fave characters would get out of a particular situation, or how to get them into a situation. Or if another book would be released that contained my imagined situations. Not likely, given my random thoughts. But a girl could hope, right?

Being in the GFFA meant that any daydreaming would be nothing more than a pondering of my own reality. Depressing instead of exciting, truth be told. This wasn't anything like I had imagined it. In all those fantasies, in all those fanfictions, you never realized just how many personal demons came with being the hero, nor that the most terrifying enemy of all was the self-doubt that nagged at you when all was quiet, gleefully replaying every dumbass decision you've made with crystal clarity. Veers had done that for me today, touched a nerve.

Okay, okay. He touched an emotional nerve as well as physical one. Jeez, you people are picky.

And speaking of his Unholy Nerve Pinching Self, Veers stirred on his bunk and I brought my mind back to the present. "You may sit now," he said, voice sounding somewhat drowsy. "How long was I asleep?"

The impulse to tell him to use his own eyes and glance at the monitor on the wall literally above his head was smashed down, just like the desire to flip him the bird and tell him that I'll stand, thanks. Lord knew what else he had planned for me today, and I just may need that extra bit of rest sitting would grant me. Obediently, and only with a slight bit of sass in my motion, I plopped down on my bunk.

And OMG, seriously! He lifted an eyebrow at that and I literally sat up straight, hands folded in my lap and shoulders squared. "Better," He nodded. "Now answer, please."

"Three hours, sir," I bit out.

"And you stood there like I ordered for the entire time?"

I've got the leg pain to prove it, you douche! What came out of my mouth was a snapped "Yes, sir."

A somewhat curious expression crossed his features. "Why?"

Uh, because you pretty much tortured the crap out of me until I agreed to do it, you double douche! "Sir?"

"You could have walked away at any time."

Duh! "Yeah—uh, yes, sir."

He pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, favoring his left side in a way he hadn't before. "Why did you stay?"

"I don't know how you do things in this Empire, sir," I said, trying not to grind my teeth as I spoke. "But where I come from, sir, when people give their word, it means something, sir. My mother raised me better than that, for one, sir. For another, sir, back home people ask permission to speak freely from their military superiors, sir. So, sir, may I, sir, have permission, sir, to speak freely, sir?"

If that wasn't loaded with enough of those 'sirs' to gag a gundark, I didn't know what was.

He sighed slightly, more an exhalation of air through his nose. "We will discuss your discipline for the disrespect in your tone later. For now, yes. You may speak freely and be at your ease. When we are not in training, Your Highness, you can dispense with the formality."

I lifted both eyebrows. "Sir, before I even take that into consideration, sir, how am I to know, sir, when we're not in a training situation, sir? Sir, as you agreed with my Agent Coulson analogy before, sir, everything and every moment, sir, is a weapon, sir. Including my sarcasm, sir."

That last part was so loaded with sarcastic acid, I was surprised he had a face left after I was finished spitting it at him. And just because he was Veers, he chuckled. Last reaction I thought I'd get from him, but there it was. I was learning just how little I knew about him. Things that I thought would make him happy just irritated him, and the irritating things I did on purpose just amused him. It was like watching a French documentary on American lifestyles with Japanese subtitles. I could catch the gist of it because I knew some of the background, but the rest was absolutely perplexing.

"I will tell you when we are not in training."

"Sir, like now, sir?"

"Yes, like now, Your Highness. Speak."

"Bark. Bark," I snapped, throwing myself backwards onto my bunk and peeling off my boots. "My feet are killing me, you know. These boots weren't made for standing still that long."

"The pain will remind you of the price of disobedience. It was not meant as a luxury."

That time I did flip him off. And when he did that eyebrow rise thing, I returned it to him. "hey, you said we weren't in training."

"I did. However that is not permission to insult me at every opportunity."

"Oh, I owe you a few, doll—General," I still corrected hastily. "You tortured me."

"I corrected your behavior the best way I could in a short time."

"Correction. Torture. You guys in uniform need to stop rewriting the definition of words just to suit your needs. No wonder everyone lives in fear of the Empire. You can't even be sure you all are speaking the same language anymore."

"Your Highness—"

"No, no, hold up on that, General," I lifted one hand, the other was currently trying to massage feeling back into my toes. "Seriously, and this isn't being a nit-picker here. This is a valid concern. Unless you all start issuing the Palpatine Edition of the Galactic Dictionary, people are going to constantly run afoul of you. You said correction. What I experienced was torture. And you owe me one for that. You know it and I know it."

He pursed his lips, and then nodded. "My methods were harsh," he said, about as close to an apology as I was going to get. "That does not negate the necessity of them. And, for the record, a correction by pain is still a correction in the military."

"I seem to have lost my military-to-everyone-bloody-else translator."

That slight smile returned. "I'll see to it that you have one when we return to the Empire."

"And I'll get right on reading it," my words suggesting I'd probably use it for a door post. I would have said toilet paper, but he'd probably hand me a data pad. I'm not wiping my ass with a data pad, thanks. Just no.

"You are evading the question, your Highness."

"There was a question in all of that, General?"

"The original question. Why did you stay?"

I fell silent for once (shocker!) and really thought about what I could say to him versus what I really should say. And THAT was partly due to the fact that he was a full Imperial and I was… well… I was what I was. Believe it or not, that was my first thought. Not that I had to hide the fact that I was from Earth and anything I siad might lead back to that. Nope, just that he was on one side of a line and I was on the hazy somewhat nebulous position near it (Let's be honest for a second. If I'd fully committed to either side, I wouldn't be here right now. If I was a rebel, I so would have left him in the snow like Han wanted. If I was full Imperial, I wouldn't be giving him a load of shit at every turn. Well, okay, that wasn't accurate either. I give everyone a load of shit, because that's just who I am. But I digress…), and what I said would be used against me later on if we happened to be at cross purposes.

On the other hand, it would be nice to get another outside perspective on the screwed up crap I called a brain.

"What?!" I demanded when I glanced back up at him and saw that smile was still there.

"You are thinking on what to tell me and what not to tell me, rather than verbalizing the first thought that crossed your mind. That, too, is progress."

"That, too, can kiss my ass, General. Hey! No giving me crap about saying that. That wasn't directed at you and I'm saying 'General' all polite-like. So bite me. And in case you need clarification, that last part was directed at you. So there."

That smile remained fixed on his face. "You will not change the topic by infuriating me. I understand now that that is one of your strengths."

Yup, me and Mara Jade. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, make them stupid-mad with sarcasm… "And since you know it, you won't fall for it."

"Precisely, Your Highness. Your answer, please."

I squirmed on my bunk, glaring down at the floor. "You won't like the answer."

"My personal feelings are not relevant to this conversation."

"You say that now, pa—General. Just wait until you hear it."

"As I have now asked you three times for the information, I can assure you, I have been waiting."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That came suspiciously close to a joke, General. I thought there was no room for levity between us."

"There is a distinct difference between our training time and our personal time. I shall add the distinction to your next lecture."

I threw myself flat on my bunk with a groan. "No more lectures. I thought I was finished with them when I graduated from college."

He was quiet for a long moment, so much so that I sat up in a sort of alarm, expecting to see him doubled over or unconscious or dead or something. Instead, he was just staring at me in silence. It would have been so creepy if not for the look of partial concern on his features. Sort of like the look he'd given me that night in the _'Falcon's_ cockpit.

"Don't do that," I snapped.

"Do what?"

"Scare the life out of me, dum—General! I thought you and keeled over or something."

A twitch of his lips, as if he was amused and annoyed by my concern all at once. "If you are so worried over my well-being, I would suggest you stop wasting our time together with deflecting the question at hand. This will not go away, Your Highness. You cannot push me away as you seem to do the others around you. Nor can you bury me in a steady stream of sarcasm and seemingly idiotic antics. You are far more intelligent than you appear, and yet you constantly sabotage yourself at every turn. I want to know why. No, I need to know why if we are to succeed in our mission."

The need to tell him that this wasn't a mission, that he wasn't my commander, that I didn't sabotage myself, and that he could take all his soul-searching looks and crap and shove them where the sun doesn't shine, died on my lips. That emotional nerve he'd touched was just blazing with pain again, and the images that accompanied it rose up unbidden in my head.

Suddenly my mind took that wrong turn at Albuquerque, and I was on the Death Star again instead of in Palm Springs where I should have been. Praji's hand was locked across my mouth, the leather like a buttersoft mockery of a kiss against my lips. Tears spilled down my face, breaking against the dam of that black leather, his heart jackhammering in his chest as loudly as mine. And his hand on my upper arm pulled me closer to him rather than pushed me forward, as if his body and heart was rejecting the orders his brain gave to take me to this horror show.

"Be strong," he'd whispered, his mouth hidden in my hair. "Mary, be strong for just a little longer, and everything will be okay."

But he'd never get to keep that promise. Nothing would be okay ever again.

The doors parted, and Moff Murderface stood there in all his unholy glory, smiling that grim reaper smile of his. Beckoning me forward with one raised hand, one flex of his fingers. As if, in that one motion, he'd set into action the chain of events that lead to Alderaan's destruction. I remembered all that terror, all that pain and fear and helplessness as I watched helplessly while billions died. But also the relief—the relief of all things!—that I felt in that helplessness. There was nothing I could do to save anyone on Alderaan. There was nothing I could do to alter the flow of events no matter how much I wished I could.

Hiding in my captivity. Just as I'd hidden from any real responsibility since I'd stumbled upon that unmarked grave—

"You touched a nerve, alright?" I huffed out, slapping my bare feet on to the floor and crossing my arms over my chest. "And I mean more than the nerve on my neck or whatever it was you Vulcan neck pinched to cause that much pain. You hit a real nerve, an emotional nerve. One I thought I'd gotten over years ago. But oh, no, thanks to your psychoanalysis or whatever, you had to go and drag it kicking and screaming back to my present. You know, I was clearly happy being a nobody looser bartender until all this crap happened!"

No flicker of emotion in him, no change in his posture to indicate he'd slipped into Unwanted Teacher Mode. Just silence… and a steady stare that could suck the truth out of a pathological liar.

"That probably made no sense to you, but we aren't talking about you right now, okay? We're talking about me. Not everything is about you all the time. So shut up and sit down and listen for once!"

One eyebrow arched slight. Probably at the fact that he was already sitting there silently and listening. But if you get that phrase yelled at you enough in your life, it becomes an automatic reflex to spout it out when you're upset. I went to rub my hand over my face, and thought better of that. I thought about leaning my forehead against the durasteel wall, but changed my mind there, too. Both of those movements were refuges, safety actions to help ground me away from something I didn't want to face.

"My whole adult life has been about running," I blurted, tucking my fingers under my legs to keep from doing something with my hands. "I… I saw something when I was fresh out of college. Something that stripped the innocence right off my ass so fast you would have thought it was a varnish. I've been running from it ever since, from anything that had any real responsibility to it, because that reminded me of the thing that I'm running from in the first place."

"What did you see, Your Highness?"

"A grave," I said, rocking slightly. Unable to shut the freak up. "A mass, unmarked grave. All my life I've been fascinated by other cultures, you see. I was into the Japanese language and way of life long before Anime spread through the American scene like a plague. And speaking as one of those said plague victims, try to cure me of it and I'll eat your face, you feel me? Us Anime fans are happy in our afflictions, especially since the symptoms include cosplay cons, kick ass heroes, wild colored hairstyles and future tech. But it wasn't just Japan that caught my attention. It was China, and it was Germany, and it was Rome. Anything that had a different political or cultural view than ours. America's I mean. So I chose Anthropology as a career when I went to college. But all that training, all that fascination, never prepared me for what I saw.

"It wasn't so much the grave as it was what it represented," I continued. "I'd seen bones before, you know. I took Osteology in college as an elective. So I know a complete skeleton forwards and backwards. I can tell you all the bones in the human body and how they work and junk. So seeing the bones in that grave wasn't what did me in. It was… it was the manner of it. The… inhuman quality to it. The knowing that all these cultures that so fascinated me were just as debased and horrible as my own. They were just as capable of destruction and death as the maniacs on the street paying two hundred bucks for a gun to kill their cheating girlfriend."

"You did not kill them, Your Highness," he said simply. Quietly. "You did not place the weapons in the hands of their murderers."

"Don't you think I know that? Christ, I've been trying to know that for the past six years. I didn't kill those people. But I had a suspicion who did. I had a feeling it was the same asshats that were escorting my professor and me all around the country! And there was nothing I could do about it."

"You are correct. There was nothing you could have done."

"But that didn't give me the liberty to feel relieved by it, any more than it gave me the freaking right to feel relief when the Death Star blew up Alderaan!"

I was screaming by then. On my feet and just bellowing at him. Because it was all true. And I felt like the lowest form of life ever.

"You could not have done anything about Alderaan, either, Your Highness," He roared over me, his terminating in a wet coughing sound.

"But I should have been able to do something! I'm a mother-fucking Jedi, Veers! I know shit that could turn your hair white if I told you! I knew it was going to happen before Moff Murderface woke up and decided 'hey, I'm an evil dick. I'm gonna blow up a world to prove it. Maybe put in a new hyperspace lane through the debris and call it the Tarkin Memorial Parkway! Yeah, that's what I'll do. Because I'm evil' and put on his Evil League of Evil membership T-shirt beneath his fucking pressed uniform. I _KNEW _IT! DID I STOP IT? NO, I DIDN'T, AND THAT MAKES ME JUST AS FUCKING _RESPONSBILE _FOR EVERYTHING!"

"And so you destroyed the Death Star in retaliation?"

"YES! Errr… no! Wait, what? That was all Lord Hater's plan, not mine!"

He fixed me with a hard look. "Be that as it may," he bit out. "The deaths of those people weigh upon you just as the deaths on Alderaan and in that grave you carry in your heart. It was the first thing your guilty conscience confessed when given the sliver of an opportunity. Was it revenge, Your Highness? Did it assuage your Jedi guilt for Alderaan even for a moment?"

"It had to happen!" I blurted, flabbergasted. "The stor—"

"Did it?" He countered. "Was there truly no other way?"

Luke's comments came back to me. His words so imploring, which at that time had seemed so dumb to me. But now… now…

_Aurora, tell me you are not on the Death Star. I don't want to take this shot if—_

_To hell with me, you take that shot when it comes up, you hear me farmboy?! You have no choice. We all know that. _

_No, not if it kills you. We'll find another way. There's got to be another way._

_There is no other way! Take the shot. Take it!_

_NO!_

"Fuck. You. Maxi," I snarled, feeling like I wanted to throw up all over the place. God, I had felt so right, so justified in ordering Luke to pull the trigger. Now… god, I hate this. Hated it! "Just go to hell!"

He waited until the echo of my rage finished reverbierating in the tiny medical bay. And said softly, ever so softly. "Did you know, in your august Jedi wisdom, that the people in that grave were going to be there?"

His words hit me like a punch to the forehead. "No," I growled back. "But I should have. I knew the history of that area and the bloodthirsty people that ran that government now were the same people in charge when that grave was dug. They just acted like they were reformed. I should have expected it."

"So you carry the guilt for nothing," He shook his head. "You waste your life because others died before you. Faceless people you had never met, who were not your responsibility. You run away because they could not. A pity that their sacrifices meant so little to you."

Mother fucker said _what_? "You son of a—"

"What is the first rule of combat?"

"This isn't a lesson, Vee—"

"What. Is. The. First. Rule. Of. Combat?"

"It's know your mother-fucking surroundings, you douchebag asshole!"

"Did you know your surroundings in all three events? When facing Alderaan, the Death Star, and this grave?"

"Yes!"

"What did you know about them?"

"That I couldn't do anything!"

"Why?"

"Because the assholes with the bigger guns were always around me. Saying or doing anything would have ended up with me dead, too. And I tried, anyway! But I was bound and gagged during Alderaan, and I was stuck in a shuttle in the middle of the Yavin massacre, and the grave… I was… I was…"

"Scared?"

"Hell yes I was scared! They had guns, General! They had guns bigger than any cross-section of my body. And my professor was giving me that same look you all give me, the one that says keep your mouth shut and do as you're told! And I did!"

"What happened during each encounter?"

"What do you think happened! Alderaan was destroyed. Luke blew up the Death Star—"

"I thought you said you destroyed it."

"I ordered him to do it!"

"You put together the battle plan that identified a weakness in the Death Star, separated the squadrons, and assigned each man to their sector for the battle?"

"No, I—"

"Did you have the authority within the Rebellion to give orders to those pilots?"

"No, but—"

"You were bound and gagged, restrained to the fullest ability, when Alderaan was destroyed. You had no authority to command, or responsibility in planning the assault that lead to the destruction of the Death Star. Just as you did not know that you cut your way into my AT-AT during the battle of Hoth, which you were summarily bound and gagged through the destruction of that unit that lead to the death of Damien Mercado. Just as you had no way of knowing that the Star Destroyer was going to strike the _Runaway Princess_ in precisely the right place to cause the electrical issues that killed Dak Raltor. Is all that correct?"

"Yes," I whispered, slumping back onto my bunk. "It's all true."

"Then explain to me how any of this is your fault."

"B..because I knew it was going to happen?" Man, as far as lame responses went, that took the gold star. Even I flinched as I said it.

He sighed, the sound carrying a heavy disappointing weight to it. "So we start again at the top. What is the first rule of combat?"

I huffed out a sound that was more a sob. Not this again… "Be aware of your surroundings at all times."

"What is the second rule of combat?"

I glanced upwards, met his steady gaze through my tears. "I… we haven't gone over that yet."

"Haven't we?"

"General, please. I don't want to—"

"What did you see when you were standing guard at my bedside?"

"I saw the walls, the floor, the empty hallways and the shadows."

"What else?"

Stars, but now I was so tired. Nothing like a great emotional outburst to rip all the energy from you. I ran my hands over my face so hard I nearly caused a nose-bleed. Nearly, being the operative word. Strong, gentle hands pried mine from my face.

"Shadows," I said again, though with a different meaning. "I saw the shadows of my failures. I would like to say I saw some successes, too, but all I saw was everything I'd run away from my whole life."

He nodded, and some of the angry tension left his hands. "The second rule of combat, Your Highness, is to accept the limitations and strengths as presented to you through rule number one. That is not limited to terrain and weaponry. It includes the reserves inside oneself, one's condition both physically and mentally, and those around them."

"So what does that make me, General? Am I a strength or a weakness in your estimation?"

"A weakness," He said simply, honestly. "However, I am willing to reassess that classification."

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Consider it a payback for correcting you earlier."

I snorted out something of a laugh. "Oh, no. You aren't off the hook that easy."

"Nor are you, Your Highness."

Uh… what now? "Me?"

"On the morrow, I will assign your discipline for your disrespect towards me today. While we have discovered the root problem of your fear of success, we do not have the luxury of indulging your other weaknesses."

I tried to rub my face again, but my hands were still tangled up in his. "Is this the part where I tell you that I'm not your officer again?"

He shrugged a shoulder oh so lightly. "Only if you wish to repeat our lessons from the top."

Oh hell no…. "No, sir," I nearly squeaked, earning a chuckle in return.

He let go then, taking the whole two strides to get back to his bunk, lowering himself to it gingerly. "Very good, Your Highness," he replied. "Tomorrow, on top of discipline and target practice, I shall teach you another point of military etiquette now that you have mastered the proper use of the word 'sir.' For now, I will rest. You are dismissed."


End file.
